


The Ghosts That We Knew

by Siriusfanatic



Category: Avengers, Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: AU Crossover, Brock Rumlow is a creep, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Homeless Bucky, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Tony Stark, M/M, Stony - Freeform, Stucky - Freeform, X-Men and Avengers, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 11:52:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2580500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriusfanatic/pseuds/Siriusfanatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been six months since Steve's life was turned utterly upside down by the fall of SHIELD and the reemergence of his long lost friend and first love, Bucky Barnes. Wounded by the experience, Steve is a changed man who's all consuming thought is to find and help his friend, who has become a ghost among the vast city of New York.<br/>With things with Tony on the rocks, Steve looks to an old friend for some unconventional help; namely Logan Howlett. The X-Men suggests utilizing his lover's, Remy LeBeau, connections among the seedier side of the city to help track Bucky down, going so far as to have Remy go undercover to find Bucky personally.<br/>While pretending to be a homeless man, Remy learns that Bucky has regained some of his memory but is avoiding Steve to protect them both from the Hydra Agents who are trying to recapture him.<br/>If this weren't enough, Logan finds himself wondering if he's doing the right thing, convinced by Tony that Bucky is too dangerous to bring back into the fold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, if you've read any of my recent work you know I've primarily been working with X-Men, but I had to give a shout out to my first Marvel love; Steve/Bucky.
> 
> This fic is holiday related, but not holiday centered, and the result of my two favorite ships desperately wanting to hang out together. Tony is a bit of antagonist in this story, but far from the villain, so no Tony hate! 
> 
> There will also be a lot Remy/Bucky bromance, but nothing sexual.  
> Brock Rumlow will creep on fucking everybody and try desperately to molest Steve and Bucky whatever chance he gets.
> 
> *This version of Remy and Logan is not tied to previous versions I have written, though some of the backgrounds are similar. Hence the AU tag.
> 
> As always thanks for reading and coming along for the ride!

 

 

               

                Tony woke, stiff-necked and disoriented, tasting the staleness of sleep in his mouth as he groaned and sat up. As usual, he had passed out in the middle of another project. The plans were still hovering on the digital hologram in front of him, although the lab was dark and quiet except for a few low-level lights.

                _“Sir, I think it’s time for bed.”_ Jarvis’s voice said suddenly.

                Tony groaned and pulled himself out of the deep chair, sitting up and stretching, cracking his back loudly.

                “Think you’re right, Jarvis. What time is it?”

                _“3 a.m., sir.”_ He answered.

                “Shit. Is Steve still awake?”

                _“My monitors suggest that Mr. Rogers is indeed sleeping, but is not currently located in the bedroom. I believe he has taken repose upon the main level sofa.”_

                “Great,” Tony muttered, rubbing his neck and gagging a little on the dry, sour taste in his mouth as he headed towards the stairs. “And don’t call him, ‘Mr. Rogers’…you make it sound like I’m sleeping with a kid’s T.V. host from the 80’s and let me tell you, that’s just creepy.”

                _“Duly noted, sir._ ”

                Tony hiked up to the main level of his penthouse home, pausing in one of the smaller bathrooms to take a big swig of mouthwash and then padded across the cold hard wood floors towards the open common space just beyond the foyer.

                Steve was, as expected, sprawled out on the large sectional couch, blanket tossed over him. “Cap? You awake?” Tony asked quietly.

                Steve was a light sleeper and usually jolted into awareness at the slightest provocation. But, stunningly, he didn’t respond to Tony’s voice. He whimpered, rolling onto his side and clutching at the cushion beneath him.

                “No…no more…won’t hurt you…please, don’t…”

                Tony paused, staring over the back of the couch at his lover, realizing he was in the middle of a nightmare. The other man’s face was twisted with an expression of anguish and frustration, sweat beading his forehead and neck as he gripped the couch cushions like they were his shield, or something even more precious. “Steve? Honey?”

                He reached down to touch his lover’s shoulder and Steve let out an anguished cry; “BUCKY!”

                Tony withdrew his hand as if Steve had burned him and took a little step backward, startled. Steve came awake, panting and whimpering, his eyes leaking tears as he covered his face and angrily kicked the blankets off of himself, unaware of Tony’s presence. “Dammit… _dammit!”_

                Tony licked his lips nervously and moved forward again, moving around the couch this time and coming to kneel next to his lover. “Steve…?”

                Steve looked up in surprise with a sniffle and quickly wiped his face, blinking away the disorienting effects of sleep. “Tony?”

                The smaller man looked at him empathetically and pulled the bigger blonde into his embrace. Steve went willingly, nestling his face in the crook between Stark’s neck and shoulder. His boyfriend kissed his temple and stroked a hand down his back , feeling his t-shirt cling to him with sweat. “Shh, it’s alright, champ. Come on, let’s go to bed.”

                Steve nodded faintly and they both stood, padding along the floor, hand in hand, heading to the bedroom on the second floor. The room was felt cavernous and empty, cold and lonely in the dark. Outside the air was cold and snow was falling on the city below them.

                Tony pulled off his tank top and sweats and scrounged about for something fresh clothes to sleep in while Steve wandered over to the glass doors that lead out onto the wrap around balcony. In the dark he could see the twinkling bits of snow as they fluttered down through the jagged grey and black landscape beyond, dotted with twinkling squares of light.

                There were new lights as well this time of year; and from their towering height, he could see the Christmas Tree in Rockafeller Square. Christmas time in New York. Steve stared out at it with glazed eyes until he felt Tony come up behind him and draw him away from the door, back towards the bed. “Come on, time to lie down. It’ll still be there in the morning,” he promised, settling Steve in the bed before crawling in beside him.

                Rogers rolled towards the windows, his back to Tony, who crawled up behind him and kissed his neck lovingly. “Bad dreams?”

                Steve nodded faintly.

                Tony disliked the silence between them. In the last six months things had changed between the two men, and not for the better. They had both been through their own separate ordeals, both which had opened old wounds and in some cases created new ones. Tony thought that when they were finally together again, they would be able to move forward; together. But instead, they seemed to have come to a stand-still.

                “I know I talk too much, but this silent treatment…”

                “I’m sorry,” Steve said quietly. He reached back and grabbed Tony’s hand and pulled it close around himself. “It’s not you. I just can’t…I can’t stop thinking about him.”

                Tony nestled closer to him, resting his head against Steve’s. He remembered the phone call about Steve being found half dead on the river bank, after the fall of SHIELD and the collapse of the Helicarrier. The world was falling apart around him, but Tony was two countries away, on business, being Tony Stark, the billionaire playboy, while his partner was left grasping at straws, betrayed by the people he trusted and left to fend for himself, virtually alone.

                Thank God for Natasha. Thank God for Sam Wilson.

                He’d been filled in about the Winter Soldier by Natasha. She, unfortunately, didn’t have many details to give him,(or chose to give him as was probably the case) except that Steve was having a very hard time coping with what Hydra had done to his oldest and closest friend. Tony remembered how frail Steve had looked in the hospital bed in D.C. He remembered Sam Wilson sitting beside him, sitting where Tony should have, taking care of him, the way _Tony_ should have.

                He’d let Steve down.

                “Close your eyes,” he said kissing his temple, “I’ve got you. You don’t have to fly solo on this one; not anymore. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” He wanted to believe those words so badly, but they tasted hollow. Tony wasn’t good at keeping promises; not like this one. But he wanted to change that.

                Steve squeezed his hand warmly and arched back to kiss him before settling back into the pillows. Tony held him close and protectively, and little by little he felt the man drop off to sleep behind him.

                But Steve staid awake, blinking blearily out across the dark bedroom at the snow falling outside. Tony felt guilty for not being there that day; for not being able to step in and protect him from Hydra, from the Winter Soldier. But he didn’t understand…

                Steve wasn’t afraid _of_ Bucky. He was afraid _for_ him. Ever since that day, the dark haired assassin who had once been his best friend, the love of his life, had consumed his every thought. He needed to find Barnes, rescue him from this awful fate Hydra and the world had inflicted on him. But try as he might, he couldn’t track the man down. Every time he got close, Bucky slipped out of his grasp.

                He didn’t _want_ to be found. But Steve couldn’t let go. And Tony didn’t see it. Or if he did, he was in deepest state of denial Rogers had ever witnessed. And it broke his heart. Over and over again. All of it.

                Things just weren’t the same. And Steve felt more alone in the world now than he had that day he had woken up from the Ice.

 

***

                Despite the lingering dark, Steve still felt like daylight came too early. He was up and out of bed before Tony budged, dressed in his street clothes and made his way down into the city. He decided that a cold morning run would help him clear his head, and running errands would keep him distracted. He’d bring back coffee from Tony’s favorite place, and maybe some donuts, as an apology for the late night and his distant mood.

                He’d act like everything was normal. If he just kept doing that, maybe, eventually, he’d convince himself it was.

                The streets were slushy and grey, tinsel and garland were strung around lamp posts and street lights, giving the city a flashy, festive air. Storefronts were decked out in their finest displays and people would actually stop for a moment in their constant rush, just to admire them.

                Steve gave money to every Salvation Army Santa he passed, giving a little wink to those who recognized him stumbled all over themselves to thank him, or ask for his autograph. Finally, six blocks later, he arrived at the little café that had become a staple in the Stark-Rogers house hold.

                He ducked in through the little glass and wood door, hearing the pleasant chime of the bell above it as he did so, and let the warmth of the place wash over him as his nose was greeted with the heavy smell of roast coffee, cream and assorted syrups and the heavy note of spices. Due to its small size and relative newness, it had become a sort of place for hipsters and the university crowd, and Steve didn’t mind, since most of them ignored him entirely.

                He ordered a plain black coffee for himself and found a chair by the storefront window, where he could sit and catch his breath. Another man was sitting there, obscured by a large newspaper. Steve felt there was something familiar about him, but couldn’t see his face.

                As he settled down, he turned his gaze from the man with the paper to the street outside, searching the crowd. Was Bucky out there somewhere, right now, watching him from a distance? Was he safe? Was he cold? It was thirty degrees, maybe colder outside right now. Steve remembered those distant Brooklyn winters in his drafty old brownstone, when the two would huddle together for warmth in his shabby apartment…

Did Bucky have someplace to go, friends, anyone to rely on? Where was he staying? What if he was in trouble, right now, and Steve was just sitting there in a stupid coffee shop with his stupid paper cup of coffee, doing nothing about it?

                He stomach twisted into a tighter not and he found it hard to swallow. He felt like he was going to be sick all over his shoes. In that moment he was that skinny little guy from Brooklyn again; nothing even resembling Captain America. And all he wanted in the whole world was Bucky, right there beside him, smiling like he always did.

_“Punk.”_

_“Jerk.”_

                “Got the thousand yard stare going on, eh bub?” a voice said suddenly from behind the newspaper. Steve looked up, startled, and saw the familiar face of Wolverine looking back at him.

                “Logan!” he gasped, startled from his memories, snapping back to the present with a rush of breath.

                The two men stood, Steve towering over the shorter man, and embraced each other fast and firm as brothers do. “Long time no see!” Steve laughed.

                “Yeah, I guess it has been awhile,” the dark haired mutant replied with a grin, taking his seat again. “How goes the world saving business?”

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“Eh, things have been more…localized for me lately. Keeping a low profile.”

“By choice or by demand?” Steve asked with a knowing smirk.

Logan shrugged his broad shoulders, “Always hard to say which.” He replied. He studied him for a moment, “You look like yer havin’ a rough day, if ya don’t mind be being blunt.”

                Steve smiled, “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” he replied. “And…I guess it has been a rough couple of months, for all of us.”

                The dark haired Canadian nodded solemnly. “We heard about SHIELD of course. I’m sorry about all that. Wish I had been able to help.”

                The blonde man nodded appreciatively, “I know, I know. But all we can do is move forward now.”

                “How’s Stark?”

                Steve gripped his cup a little tighter and stared into the black pool of steaming liquid in front of him.

                “That good, eh?” Logan chuckled half-heartedly.

                “We’ve both been dealing with a lot. Trying to, you know, pretend everything is normal. But…” As he fumbled for the words to the feeling he wasn’t even sure he could name, another man approached them. This one was tall and lanky with auburn hair that draped the nape of his neck and hung in his strange red and black eyes. He wore a heavy brown leather bomber jacket and scarf and was carrying two large coffees in his hands, which were covered by fingerless gloves.

                “Well, dis is a nice little surprise,” the tall man said with a grin, his smooth Cajun accent causing both Steve and Logan to grin and make other surrounding patrons take notice of the handsome southerner.

                “Hi Remy,” Steve nodded, then realized he must have taken the man’s seat and hurriedly leapt up, spilling his own drink across his jacket. Remy sat down his own cups and reached for a wad of napkins, “What’s de hurry, homme? Sit down, relax! You look like you could use it,” the Cajun chuckled, helping him clean up the mess.

                As Steve settled back in the chair, flushing slightly with embarrassment, Remy sat himself languidly on the arm of Logan’s chair. The shorter mutant put his arm around the Cajun’s back and scratched him lightly with his nails in an intimate gesture that made Steve raise an eyebrow in surprise.

                “Oh…I didn’t realize you two were, um…” he smiled, “Congratulations.”

                “Merci, mon ami. Guess sometimes when you stop and look around you, you realize de person you been looking so hard for is right in front of you. In dis case, he was de short, hairy guy stabbin’ Sentinels across from me.” Remy replied, putting his free arm around Logan’s shoulders. Wolverine made a sound in throat that was almost like a purr.

                “I do look good stabbin’ Sentinels.”

                “So, what brings you fellas into the Big Apple?” Steve asked then.

                “Funny thing about Westchester, it gets _cramped_ quickly. You know how tensions can run high this time of year.” Logan replied, gulping at his drink. Remy smiled at him, “What he means is if we had to stay in de mansion another day wit Scott and Emma, he might have carved dem up like a holiday ham.”

                “Ah, I see.” Steve nodded. He glanced out the window again and then was on his feet once more.

                Both mutants tensed in response, turning to follow his gaze. “What’s--?”

                Before Logan could finish his question Steve was up and running, leaping over the end table next to them and pushing his way out the door. He went sprinting down the sidewalk, Logan and Remy close behind, not sure what was happening, but if Captain America was after it, it must be serious.

                Steve barreled through a crowd of pedestrians, pushing his way through the throng. They saw it then, the person the Captain was after. He was average height with long, ragged hair hidden under a dirty baseball cap, wearing a stained and worn jacket over a grey hoodie. Nothing about him really stood out, except for the bright gleam of metal from the man’s right hand, or the man’s stunning agility and expert way of evading the super soldier.

“Bucky! Bucky wait! _Please!_ ” Steve pleaded, fighting his way through the crowd.

Logan’s step slowed in surprise, “’ _Bucky’?”_

“Who de hell is Bucky?” Remy asked beside him. He gasped in shock then as Steve went darting out into the street.

                “STEVE!” Logan shouted as an oncoming cab struck the patriot directly in the side , causing him to go flipping up over the yellow hood, rolling into windshield, which cracked under his weight. The blonde man dropped from the hood and lay in the pavement, momentarily stunned. Logan and Remy leapt out into the traffic as well, Logan jumping over the fallen super soldier, claws barred, and buried them into another speeding vehicle that threatened to run right over the fallen man. Logan snarled at the driver as he screamed, tearing out a chunk of transmission.

                The man that Steve had been perusing had stopped to look back at them through the crowd, giving Remy a clear view of his face. The man looked frightened, confused. He almost turned back towards Rogers, but thought better of it when Logan bolted into the street after him.

                Unsure of what was going on, but realizing the man before them was of importance, Gambit continued to follow him, easily leaping over the stalled cars that stood between them. He chased the man called Bucky down for two more blocks, finding that the stranger was just barely able to keep ahead of him.

                He rounded a corner and Remy swung himself around a street sign to keep from having to double back in his haste. The narrow bend turned into an alley way between several businesses and apartment buildings.

                Remy started down the slick passage, only to have the stranger abruptly turn on him, brandishing a blade. He came at Remy with surprising force and the Cajun narrowly avoided having his eye taken out. His combatant was brutal, fast, and intent on disabling him. Gambit barely had time to pull his retractable staff from his belt and extend it, using it to avoid what would have been a devastating blow to the head, and managed to push the thug back.

                “You got some moves, homme! You look like a mugger but you definitely somet’ing more talented!” he called.

                The man said nothing, continuing to attack until he made to break away once more, reaching out a grabbing a huge dumpster and managing to overturn it in front of the X-Men. In doing so, Remy saw a flash of those metallic fingers again and realized the man must be equipped with armor or cybernetic attachments beneath his shabby clothing.

                Gambit leapt over the refuse, grasping onto a low hanging escape ladder and propelling himself upward so that he could race along the narrow catwalks from fire escape to fire escape, the stranger running below him.

                As soon as Remy had taken the lead, he flipped downward and dropped right in front of the dark haired man, spinning his staff and managing to catch him in the face. The man stumbled but made no sound, lying stunned on the pavement.

                “Alright, homme, let’s call dis race a draw. You runnin’ outta alley and I’m runnin’ outta patience. So why don’t you just--!”

                Something hard collided with his jaw so much that Gambit saw lights winking in front of his eyes before he went down like a stone, senseless and bleeding.

                Bucky stood over him panting, knife poised in his hand, ready to finish the job. But he hesitated. He’d seen this man and the other one with Steve. How did they know each other? Was he a friend, or some other SHIELD agent who wanted his head?

                Looking down at Gambit though, he didn’t look like SHIELD material. Barnes turned and glanced back down the alley way, but the others hadn’t caught up to them yet. His stomach clenched when he remembered Steve sprawled in the street. Had he been hurt?

                Too many questions. He’d add them to his list for later. He rustled inside the pockets of his coat and produced a scrap of paper and a pen, with which he hurriedly scribbled a note. Then he bent beside Gambit’s prone figure and stuffed the note inside his jacket pocket, patting it to be sure it was secure. Then he was up and gone, disappearing into another narrow bend between a bakery and a bank building.

                Remy came too a few moments later, spitting blood and wiping the drying bits of it from his nose, head throbbing. “ _Son of a bitch…!”_ he groaned, knowing he would feel that pain in his jaw for days.

                His clothes were damp and cold now and as he blinked around there was no sign of the man he knew only as “Bucky”.

                “Remy!”

                He heard Logan’s footsteps thudding towards him as he struggled to push himself up, grimacing at the grime that scrapped under his palms and knees as he did so. Logan’s arm came around him to brace him as he stood.

                “You hurt?”

                “Not bad,” Remy mumbled, rubbing his tender face. Logan studied the blood smears with a concerned glower. “Wasn’t prepared for de metal arm.”

                “Where is he?” a worried voice asked behind them. They turned to see Rogers rushing towards them, scrapped and soiled but otherwise unharmed. “Where’d he go?”

                “Desole,” Remy replied, “he got away, Captain.”

                Steve nodded slowly and turned away, one hand clenched at his side the other digging into his short blonde hair in a gesture of anxiety and frustration. _“Dammit.”_

                “Who was he? He fought…well, de last time I came across a fighter like dat it was in N’Awlins against de Assassins Guild.”

                “This guy would put all of them to shame,” Logan said warily, “If he is who you say he is, Cap.”

                Rogers nodded slowly.

                “Guess you really _have_ had a rough couple of months, huh?”

 

***


	2. Chapter 2

 

                “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

                Steve looked up from his hands, having been so lost in thought he had almost forgotten about the other man in the room with him.

                Logan was standing by the window of the hotel room, blowing cigar smoke outside, letting in a bitter draft and little flakes of wafting snow that melted upon entry. “The beginning is…hazy.” He replied somewhat dryly. “Does that ever happen to you? I mean…after such a long time…do you start to wonder how much of your life was real?”

                The feral mutant smiled ruefully, lips curling around the cigar. “Memory is funny like that. Of course, it’s different for you. You were never wiped or had memories implanted like I did. But you also spent a long time in the ice…sure that can screw with ya.”

                He glanced out the window at the traffic below. “Let’s start at the middle then. When did Bucky come back?”

                “Months ago, when I was in D.C. That’s when I found him anyway. But rumors…the little bits and pieces of what I’ve been able to track down…suggest he’s been around for much longer.” He looked up sharply. “How is that possible?”

                “Status, or cryo I would think, knowing Hydra.” Logan answered.

                Steve stood and started pacing. He didn’t look good, face paler than usual, dark circles under his eyes. It would have been concerning for a normal person, but to see such evidence of stress and strain on a super soldier like Steve Rogers was even more alarming.

                “I’ve been tracking him for months…going out every day for weeks. Sometimes I’ll stay out days at time. I always find him, but he always vanishes again. I don’t…I don’t understand it.”

                “Maybe you’re being too aggressive about it. Maybe you oughta let him come to you.”

                Steve shook his head, “I tried that too. But nothing.” He ran his fingers through his short blonde hair again, taking quick, nervous breaths, exhaling harshly through his nose. Logan didn’t need empath powers to know Steve was in distress, practically on the verge of a nervous breakdown. “He _saved_ me, Logan. Bucky is still in there, still inside that shell of the Winter Soldier. And I _have_ to bring him back.”

                “Ever occur to you that maybe he doesn’t want that?”

                “Why the hell wouldn’t he?” Steve snapped, making the other man raise an eyebrow at the Captain’s sudden temper. “You can’t be suggesting he’s happier as…as…”

                “Never said he was _happy_ about it, Rogers. But it’s possible the man you knew as Bucky Barnes just doesn’t exists anymore.”

                Steve shook his head definitely. “No. No, you’re wrong.”

                He looked at an absolute loss and Logan felt for him. “I’m sorry about all this, Cap. I remember Buck, from back in the war. Can’t say we were ever close, but…he was a helluva fighter. And you two were good for each other.”

                Steve’s face wilted and he dropped down on the edge of the bed again, face in his hands. Logan put out his cigar and moved towards him, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I owe ya, Cap. So if you say there’s still hope for Buck, then there is. What can I do?”

                The blonde man from Brooklyn gripped Logan’s hand gratefully and nodded up to him. “Thank you, Wolverine.”

                “Don’t mention it.” Logan replied with a wink.

                Remy emerged from the bathroom then, recently showered and sporting a split lip and fresh bruises. “You two war heroes figure out what our plan is?” he asked.

                “Not yet,” Logan replied. “Think we need some time to come up with a strategy. And I do that best on a full stomach. How about some lunch?”

                Steve nodded, though he hadn’t any appetite. Logan withdrew from his side and moved towards Remy’s, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “You’ll be alright here for awhile?”

                “Never a doubt, cher. Got cable and a comfy bed, and if I feels so inclined, plenty of bets to place in de bar downstairs.” He grinned. He rubbed his jaw, “Though, between you an’ me, t’ink I have a hot date wit a bottle of Tylenol and dat bed over dere.”

                Logan chuckled and moved towards the door, reaching for his coat. Steve stood and turned to Gambit, “I appreciate your help back there, Gambit. I’m sorry he—“

                The red-head waved him off, “Don’t trouble yourself, mon ami! I’m only sorry I wasn’t a bit quicker on my feet, could have gotten some answers den maybe.”

                “Maybe,” Steve mumbled. “Did he…did he look alright?”

                Remy gave him a pitying look, “He looked…frightened. Lot of fear I felt comin’ off dat man, lot of desperation and concern too. Concern for you in particular.”

                Steve looked at him hopefully. “Really? How did you…I mean…?”

                “De Charm is a two way street sometimes, Captain. I get a feeling for other people’s emotions and am able to play off it. Dat’s how it works, pour moi, anyway.”

                “How do you know it was concern for _me_ though? I mean…you’re not a mind reader?”

                “Non, not as such. But sometimes when someone’s feelin’s are strong enough, I get flashes of memory or thoughts. And his were of you, face down in de street. He was scared, dat I know.”

                Steve looked to Logan who shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe Buck is still in there somewhere, under all that Hydra brainwashin’. “

                “I know he is.” the blonde answered firmly. He looked back to Remy as he picked up his own jacket and baseball cap. “Thank you, Gambit.”

                The red head gave him a little salute and waved them off as he slumped onto the bed with a groan, hearing Logan shut the door behind him. He laid there for a moment, exhausted and contemplative, weighing his options, absently grabbing the TV remote and flicking on the flat screen across the way.

                Images of that little blonde kid who screams too much while two moronic burglars try to rob his house flashed into view and Gambit groaned again and hit the mute button. After a few moments of debate, Remy decided his restless nature was not going to let him spend the rest of the morning in bed watching bad cable. He grabbed his clothes and dressed, pulling his jacket from its place over the back of a desk chair. As he did, something unfamiliar fell out of it. A scrap of crumbled yellow paper.

                The Cajun picked it up curiously and examined the hastily scrawled writing inside, which read only;

                _Protect Steve._

                Remy raised an eyebrow. “Now dis is a little tasty little mystery right here,” he grinned to himself, scratching the stubble on his chin. He moved towards the hotel window, which Logan had left open, and leaned out, shivering in the wind. He saw the pair moving off down the sidewalk, presumably to one of the many restaurants that lined the block.

                “You boys go do your catchin’ up. Remy’s gonna do a sleuthing of his own.”

***

 

                Traffic rattled a few yards above his head in a ceaseless drone, but he had become immune to it, allowing it to fade into white noise in his mind. Huddled under a decayed overpass was far from the warmest place he could seek shelter, but for the moment it was the driest.

                The snow was falling in heavy wet flakes, and the wind was harsh and biting. He stayed close to the trash can fire he had made, warming his good hand by the smoking flames. There were others a little way down the gorge, but he kept his distance.

                He had a constant headache these days, and time was…intangible. He slipped in and out of it, as seamlessly as he had before he had come here, before he remembered the name “Bucky”, before he remembered “Steve Rogers”, before Shaw and Hydra.

                He thought about Steve. He always thought about Steve. Though, he wasn’t entirely sure that man on the helicarrier, or the man who had chased him down the street was really the same one that resided in his memory. That man seemed so much smaller…frailer…yet at the same time…

                The images seemed to bleed into one another in his mind, overlapping and blurring.

                _“Bucky…? Buck…?”_

                The dark haired man whimpered and gripped his aching head, sinking down into a crouch next to the trash can.

                “That’s not my name…not my name!...Is it?”

                “Salut,”

                Bucky’s eyes snapped open and he whirled towards the soft, strange voice that interrupted his anguish, ready to defend himself. To his surprise, he saw another man had crept up on him from above the overpass, crouched on the slanted concrete in the shadow, watching him behind dark sunglasses.

                He wore a shabby green army jacket and tattered jeans, the flannel he wore beneath that looked thread bare and twice his size and his hair hung in loose tendrils of dirty auburn, dusting the tops of his shoulders and the edges of the thick faded red scarf that circled his long neck.

                “Move along,” Bucky growled in his direction. “you’ll get nothin’ but trouble from me.”

                A smile played across the man’s lips. “Oh, of dat I’m sure,” he answered, standing up and trotting his way down to the narrow gorge beneath the bridge. He moved towards the trash can and pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket before lighting one over the fire. He took a puff of it and then began cough violently.

                Bucky watched him with a dead pan expression, but his eyes were burning and curious as he studied the strange lanky creature in front of him. He seemed familiar, but his head wouldn’t stop pounding long enough for him to recall.

                “Guess they’ve gone stale,” the tall man choked, tossing the cigarette in his hand to the ground and grinding it into the damp cement before stuffing the rest of the pack back into his cavernous pockets. “Bad habit anyway.”

                Bucky moved around the trash can, stepping close to the newcomer and grabbing him roughly by the front of his shirt. The man was taller than him by a few inches, making him look up into his eyes, which were obscured by the dark lenses. “Get _the fuck_ out of here.” He snarled.

                “Sure, I’ll go homme, if dat what you want.” The lanky man replied. He reached into his jacket then and Barnes tensed, ready to move, ready to punch him in the throat or something equally quick and effective that would have him lying on the ground wheezing. But instead of a weapon the man pulled a little scrap of paper from his pocket, holding it poised between his long nimble fingers, allowing the other man to see the writing.

                Bucky recognized it as his own and blinked, shifting almost unperceptively and glancing behind him to make sure no one was listening. “Not here.” He said softly, voice barely a whisper. He pulled his cap a little lower over his eyes and plunged his hands into his own deep pockets and turned away from the trash can, moving off down the ravine.

                The other followed a step or two behind, until they were a good distance from the other gathered vagrants. They climbed out of the ditch and moved up into the decayed cement of a parking lot once belonging to a now abandoned hair salon.

                They huddled close under the ruined awning above the glass door, both shivering in the wind. “How’d you find me?” Bucky growled, glaring up at the taller man.

                “Got connections,” Remy answered with a shrug of his shoulders. He glanced down at the other man’s arm, “You might want to t’ink about covering dat hand of yours better. Dead giveaway.”

Bucky clenched nervously, eyes shifting to the ground, frown deepening. Remy noticed how pale he looked and how the curved edges of his cheek bones showed a little too starkly against his skin. “Why the hell did you come here? You didn’t get enough in the alley? I was being kind.”

                “Needed to figure out what you meant by dis little note,” Remy replied, turning it over in his hand again. “Very specific request. But leaves a lot to de imagination. What exactly am I supposed to be protecting Captain America from?”

                The darker haired man reached forward and pushed Remy flat against the grime laden glass door, causing it to rattle. He leaned close enough that Gambit could smell the staleness of his breath and the stink of his clothes and feel the heat radiating off his skin. He pulled Remy’s glasses off and dashed them to the ground as well, taking a moment to search his strange eyes.

                Gambit remained still, allowing all of it, getting so many readings off Barnes that it was almost overwhelming. “What are you?”

                Remy smirked. “Mutant. Cajun. Catholic…sorta. Going to have to be more specific—“

                “This _isn’t_ a fucking _game!_ ” Bucky hissed. “Do you have any fucking _clue_ who I am!?”

                “Someone wit de unfortunate moniker of ‘Bucky’.” Gambit chuckled in spite of himself. Barnes’ metal arm pressed more forcefully against his chest, restricting his breathing slightly. Remy furrowed his brow and allowed a little of his Charm to seep through his usual tight control. “Other dan dat, I’d say Steve Rogers is someone you know and care about. He obviously cares about you.”

                The Charm had an immediate effect, and Bucky let his grip slip. He looked away as if in a daze, “Steve is my…my…” Remy expected him to smile or to at least back down from his defensive position, but the man did something that surprised him even more. He swayed on his feet and fell forward into the lanky mutant, who caught him with a little cry of surprise.

                “Easy dere, mon ami! Wouldn’t want to make de Captain jealous, would we?” he chuckled nervously. But Bucky only mumbled something incoherent against his shoulder, body growing heavier until Remy was forced to settle him on the ground, propped against the door.

                “M’sieur? Bucky…?”

                The man’s eyes flickered open for a moment and he squeezed Gambit’s arm. “Run…” he mouthed.

                Gambit’s eyes widened and the hair on the back of his neck bristled. He sensed it then, someone moving somewhere unseen behind them. He cursed internally and gently lifted Barnes, draping one limp arm around his shoulders and hoisting him up, laughing as he did so. “You never were good at holding your liquor, mon frere,” he chuckled to no one, turning as if to casually stroll of down the road again. “Good t’ing you have me around to tell you when you’ve had enough.”

                He reached into his pocket as he saw a figure appear across the street. It was a woman, who appeared dressed in tattered clothing much like themselves, but there was nothing about her manner that suggested she was another of the homeless.

                “Need some help?” she asked, moving across the road towards them. Remy’s hand clenched around his cards, igniting them slowly, feeling the charge warm his fingers.

                “Non,” Remy answered. “Got it well handled.”

                The woman gave him a warning glance, sharp eyes boring into his. “You sure about that?” she asked. She produced a gun from her pocket and leveled it at Gambit’s forehead.

                Remy only grinned and produced his glowing cards. “Very sure.” He threw them at her before she could react, startled by the glow of the object in his hand. They exploded all around her, allowing Gambit enough time and cover to duck into the abandoned building with Barnes.

                He dragged the half conscious man behind the dusty reception desk, waiting for the next move. Bullets blazed through the dirty windows, making him wince at the sound of shattering glass. Several rounds buried themselves in the walls and the heavy wood of the desk, causing it to splinter. But none of the rounds reached them, luckily.

                Remy kept his position over Barnes, teeth clenched, waiting for an opening. If he made any move now he would be blown full of holes. “Dese friends of yours?” he muttered.

                “Hydra…” Bucky whispered from the floor. He barely had the energy to move, eyes remaining firmly closed though his fingers twitched. “Don’t let them…take me…”

                Gambit nodded to the man below him, though he knew he didn’t see. He heard someone crunching glass under their boots. There were two of them now. He leaned over Bucky and whispered softly into his ear, “When I tell you, put your arm around me, and hold on. Run if you can, but hold on. Understood?”

                Bucky nodded faintly.

                The footsteps were coming closer. Remy reached back at touched the leg side of the heavy desk that was sheltering them. He saw the shadow of the approaching agents, heard the sound of a new round being loaded into the barrel of the gun.

                “Now!” Remy whispered, leaping up suddenly. Bucky clenched his arm around his shoulder, rising as well as letting Gambit bare the brunt of his weight. His eyes opened long enough to see the woman standing just to their left, ready to blow their heads off. He grabbed something from his own pocket and flung it at her with a flick of his fingers. A small throwing star, which struck the gun in her hands.

                It back fired as she made to pull the trigger, making her scream and fall back. The two men leapt to the right just as the desk began to glow brightly and then exploded into a million little splinters. They were up and gone, running through the empty building, darting through the back entrance as smoke and gun fire filled the spaces behind them.

                Bucky tried to keep up with the long-legged man, but he was doing little more than stumbling. Still, it didn’t seem to slow Gambit down. A moment later they were out the back entrance, taking a small set of steps two at a time and darting through another narrow alley. They heard traffic again and emerged into a bustling sidewalk.

                The dark haired man lifted his head when he caught a flash of another face looking directly at them and raised his cybernetic arm just in time to deflect a bullet that would have struck his ally in face. The redhead countered the attack with another of his own, tossing another exploding playing card into the face of the gunman, who shrieked when he was blinded by the flash, face and hands singed. The crowd around them shouted and gasped, setting off a chain reaction of curiosity and panic that was just what the two needed to escape.

                They crossed the street in a pack of oblivious civilians and Gambit grabbed the closest taxi, shoving Bucky into the seat as the cabbie protested. Remy kicked the back of his seat and produced a wad of cash from the inside of his coat, “Get us de fuck outta here and it’s all yours!”

                The car sped off before the light had completely changed and roared down the street ahead of the rest of the traffic, before taking a sharp turn down a side road.

                Remy pushed Barnes flat onto the seat and kept his own head low as he watched out the windows. After a few blocks however, they seemed to be safe.

                “There had better be twenties and fifties in there,” the cabbie grumbled in front of them, “or you two are going straight to the police station.”

                Remy tossed the cash onto the front seat beside him. “Take us wherever you want, homme.” He muttered, turning his attentions to Barnes. He pulled off the dirty ball cap and rolled him towards him. Bucky looked like hell, pale and sweating and flirting with consciousness.

                “Barnes, what’s wrong wit you? You need a doctor?”

                “Steve…”

                “I’ll take ya to ‘im, just—“

                “NO!” Bucky’s eyes widened, blood shot and dilated, He reached up and grabbed Remy violently by the neck, though he didn’t squeeze or shake him. Gambit felt the tremor in his finger tips and winced as he felt a wave of terror come off the man below him. “You can’t…you _can’t_ take me to him…they’ll find us…and they’ll…”

                Though his words were broken, Remy quickly discerned their urgent meaning. Barnes was obviously being watched, followed. Hydra must have known that eventually he would try to return to Rogers, and were waiting to attack the moment he did.

                Gambit put his hand over Bucky’s, giving it a soothing squeeze, “S’alright, Buck. I understand now. We’ll keep him safe.”

                Barnes nodded slowly, the last of his energy draining out of him as he went still and quiet against the worn car seat.

                “Hey…hey, is he dead?” the cabbie asked nervously, eyes watching them in the rearview. “He had better not be dead!”

                The red and black eyed man scowled at him as he tried to think. “Take us to Brooklyn.”

                “What? Nah, I don’t go that far man,” he began, but thought better of it when he saw those strange eyes glaring back at him from the backseat. “What the fuck are you, man? Some kind of vampire?”

                “Maybe,” Remy grumbled. “Do you really want to find out?”

 

***

               


	3. Chapter 3

 

***

               

                He studied the dark haired man in front of him, watching him with vague amusement as he tore into his steak and eggs. Steve’s memory of Logan was hazy before he had emerged from the ice. He knew only that he had known the man during the war, meeting him initially in Austria, and had completed several missions by his side. His fighting style was very different from Steve’s, and his morals seemed a bit more lax, but he seemed like a good man overall. And right now, Steve needed all the friends he could get. Especially those who weren’t former members of SHIELD.

                Logan caught him staring at him and glanced up curiously, “Not eating, Cap? Gotta keep up your strength. You look a bit pale, kid.”

                Steve chortled at the nickname, “You do realize I’m 95 years old, right?”

                Logan smirked, “Like I said, _kid._ Gotta take care of yourself. Super Soldier serum or not, you can’t run on justice and the American dream alone.” He took another swig of coffee and sat back in the booth, studying him. “It’s really eating you up inside, what they done to him, isn’t it? Can’t say I don’t understand. I’ve watched the same sort of thing happen to too many people over the years.”

                Steve nodded, hands folded and resting against his chin. He looked so tired. “Why haven’t you gone to Coulson about this? Ain’t he supposed to have specialized teams to deal with this sort of thing?” Logan asked.

Rogers shook his head, brow furrowing. “I’ve spoken to Coulson. He’s made it very clear what SHEILD requires. They need Bucky to surrender, and then they need to run tests and debrief and…”

                “Sounds standard to me.”

                “Nothing is standard with them anymore. After what Hydra’s done…” his whole body tensed angrily. “It’s too much. I can’t put him through that.”

                “They won’t hurt him, Cap.”

                “I don’t know _what_ they’ll do! I only got a glimpse of his file, Logan, of the things the Winter Soldier has done…and that was only because Tony hacks into everything and then assumes I don’t know what I’m looking at when he leaves these screens up…” he rubbed his temple in a tired, aggravated way. “I understand that he’s a threat to them. I understand they want to contain him; that they need to know what he knows. But all I can see is my friend…my friend who needs me, whom I’ve let down over and over again—“

                He hid his face behind his hands for a moment and Logan sat silently, watching before extending a hand across the table and tentatively touching his arm. “This isn’t on you, Steve. You gotta remember that.”

                He glanced around, making sure no one was ease dropping. “You talk to Stark about all this?”

                Steve shook his head. “I can’t.”

                “Cause you’re still in love with Barnes.”

                Rogers looked up, bright blue eyes startled. Logan almost laughed, and quickly his smile behind his coffee cup again. “What? Like it was some kind of secret?”

                “I…it was private.” Steve answered and Logan noticed his cheeks were slightly pink. The mutant rolled his eyes, Rogers was sometimes too sweet and innocent to be real. “ _You_ might have thought so. I could tell a mile away you two were a thing. The way he was so protective of you. You know, he about took my head off a couple of times just for looking at you too long.” He sighed thoughtfully, “But I suppose that does complicate things with bucket head.”

                “I love Tony.”

                “Sure you do.”

                Steve scowled. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like you understand me, or know me. You and I go way back, but we’ve seen each other, what, twice since I woke up? You’ve got no idea what my life is like now.”

                “You’re right.” Logan answered. “I don’t. Yet here you are, broken hearted and worried sick over a man you thought died seventy years ago, leaning on _my_ shoulder, with no sign of Stark. You’re right kid, guess I don’t know you at all.”

                “Room for one more?”

                Both looked up suddenly as Stark himself appeared beside their table, glaring between the two of them. His eyes flashed from Steve’s startled expression to Logan’s passive one. “You get my Christmas card, Logan?” he asked.

                Wolverine smirked, “How are ya, Stark? Nice day, hmm?”

                Tony ignored him and turned his attention on Steve again. “So, are you avoiding me all together now? I mean, it was one thing when morning jogs turned into all day marathons, or those evening patrols and training sessions started to last for days on end. Now you don’t even do excuses?”

                “Tony…”

                Stark looked at him a little closer and noticed the dark bruise around his eye and the scrapes on his face and hands. “What the hell? Did you get hurt?”

                “Hit by car. No biggie.” Wolverine shrugged.

                “Logan, you’re not helping.”

                “How the fuck did you get hit by a car?”

                “Chasing Barnes into traffic.”

                _“Logan,”_

                Stark scowled at Rogers, who stood up then. “You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t.”

                “Let me explain…”

                “He’s _dangerous_ Steve!”

                “Not to _me_ , not anymore!”

                “ _ESPECIALLY TO YOU! ESPECIALLY NOW!”_ Tony found himself shouting, startling the other patrons and wait staff. One of the managers approached them, “Um, sirs, I have to ask—“

                Stark rounded on the other man; “Excuse me? Do you know who I am? Do you know who _we_ are? _Avengers._ That’s who. This is fucking official _Avenger_ business, so if you don’t mind--”

                “I’m sorry,” Steve cut in, “We’ll go. I’m sorry.” He took hold of Tony’s arm, who tried to shrug away and found that he couldn’t. Steve marched him back towards the door with another embarrassed and apologetic nod towards the manager and staff.

                Logan stood up, tossing a wad of cash on the table and followed after them, which Tony seemed surprised by. “Who the fuck invited you?” Stark muttered.

                Wolverine nodded to Rogers, “He did. Now come on, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

                They barely made it out onto the sidewalk before Tony finally pulled away from Steve, “So you’d rather sit and have lunch with short dark and mutant than talk to me, that it?” he demanded, glaring at his lover. “You know what, Cap, this is utter _bullshit._ I mean…of all the shitty things to do to a guy who’s just trying to watch out for you—“

                “Watch out for me?” Steve repeated, giving Tony an angry, wounded glance. “Is _that_ what you think you’re doing? _Watching out for me?_ You’ve been tracking me, _constantly_ , making Jarvis spy on me.”

                “Leave Jarvis out of this,”

                “Tony, I don’t need you to keep any eye on me, I don’t need a chaperon!”

                “The hell you don’t! You go running around this damn city day and night, acting like you’re not a target, that you’re not in danger constantly from fucking Hydra agents, chasing the ghost of your best friend _who tried to kill you!”_

                A crowd had formed around them and Steve stared at the pavement, mortified, before shoving his hands in his pockets and pushing forward, though Tony continued to grab at him and try to pull him back. “Look, I know I wasn’t there for you when I should have been, and I’m _trying_ to make it right, but I—“

                “This isn’t _about you_!” Steve snarled. “It was _never_ about you.”

                The smaller man threw up his hands in exasperation, slapping them back down to his sides as he stared at his lover, obvious to Logan, who remained the silent observer. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He moved a little closer, peering into Steve’s face. “We’re supposed to be a _team_. We’re supposed to have each other’s backs. I am trying Steve, but you are shutting me out. And I get it…I’m a narcissistic asshole. But I love you. And you haven’t been yourself…not since you woke up in the hospital. I know it, Natasha knows it, Sam knows it. You need to let this go. You need to get help.”

                Steve couldn’t meet his eyes, his mouth set in a hard thin line. Logan saw him floundering, saw that Stark had poked at some exposed wound, some deep insecurity. It wasn’t any of his business, yet it bothered him.

                “I’m sorry.” Steve said quietly.

                Tony hugged him tightly, kissing his cheek. “Let’s go home.”

                Cap nodded mutely and Tony turned back to Logan. “Hey man, sorry to make a scene in there. You understand? How about you come back to Avengers tower with us, huh? Sure you and Natasha could do some catching up?” Tony offered.

                Logan looked from Steve’s dejected features to Tony’s and considered. He didn’t like being dragged into other people’s problems. He had more than his fair share of his own. “Sorry, Stark. Maybe another time. Got my man waiting for me back at motel.”

                Tony nodded, “Ah! You and Kurt finally get together?”

                Logan bristled faintly, “No. I’m with LeBeau. You remember _Gambit_ don’t ya?” he replied with a smirk as Tony’s face soured slightly.

                “Well of course I remember a man who has repeatedly robbed me. You’re serious? I mean, I knew you had a thing for redheads, Wolverine, but _that_ one?”

                Logan pulled his collar up on his bomber jacket, “Don’t be jealous, Stark. It’s tacky. But I’ll tell him you said hello. Maybe have him send you a thank you card for that antique bottle of wine he stole a couple weeks ago. Not my thing, personally, but it sure did taste good on him.”

                “You’re a masochist, Wolverine.”

                Logan shrugged and turned his attentions to Steve, “You need anything Cap, you know where to come lookin’.” He patted Steve’s arm. “Take care of yourself, Rogers.”

                “You too, Logan.”

 

**

 

                He felt like he had dodged a bullet, though only narrowly. Stomping up the stairs to their hotel room, Logan shivered in the cold stair well and let out a grunt at the annoying bombardment of Christmas carols he heard playing over the speakers in the lobby. He should have known better than to come looking for some peace and quiet in New York, but Gambit was a city kid and liked the lively atmosphere.

                Next time, they were going to a cabin in Canada. Hell, he might go ahead and start packing now. It wasn’t like Westchester couldn’t find him if need be. But his conversation with Rogers kept going round and round in his mind, making it hard to focus on relaxing. Logan felt uneasy about Bucky. He always had. Barnes was nothing like Rogers when it came down to war and fighting. Logan had _seen_ Barnes in action, seen how brutal, how ruthless and deadly efficient he could be in the right circumstances. It was what had made him a great Sargent, and great Howling Commando. To know that such skills had come under the control of Hydra was unsettling. But it was even more unsettling now that Bucky was…what? A vigilante? A renegade? A fugitive?

                Logan couldn’t think of the right word for this scenario, but all he knew was that it was dangerous. He’d dealt with Hydra in the past…once they got in your head, they could turn you against yourself, against everything you ever thought you believed in. Logan knew….because once upon a time, he’d had a similar experience. Yet another blood soaked chapter in the life of Wolverine. One he never talked about. Not even Charles knew.

                Tony was right to worry about Steve’s fixation. Rogers w _as_ chasing ghosts. If there was anything left of the old Bucky, it was buried under so many layers of brainwashing and abuse and torture that it seemed improbable to survive. He wanted to tell Steve that. But he had seen the fire in his eyes when he had suggested it. Steve would never accept the fact that Bucky couldn’t be saved, not the Bucky he knew anyway. But if he did…it would utterly break him.

                Logan couldn’t have that. He turned down the hallway towards his room, ready to put it all side for a moment and catch up with Remy. He expected the kid was probably asleep, or binging on bad take out and even worse movies. If he was lucky, he might catch the Cajun in other private pursuits…he grinned a little, thinking that a mid-day fuck would be just the thing to get this knot out of his stomach. But when he opened the door he found the room silent and empty, lacking Remy’s scent. He frowned.

                “Where the hell did he go?” he muttered, shrugging out of his coat and scrounging about for a note. He found nothing however, and noted that Gambit had left his suitcase untouched, while his duffle bag, which contained his weapons, looked lighter.

                Nervously Logan pulled his cellphone from his pocket and flicked through the contacts. Fuck he _hated_ cellphones. Especially the new ones. Jubilee had set it up for him, complete with pictures of everyone in his contact list. Most of which were ridiculous and unflattering. Remy’s picture was a crotch shot. Jubilee had laughed about that for five minutes.

                But Logan wasn’t laughing now as he waited for the other man to pick up. Each ring that went unanswered made him more anxious. “Please, please, tell me you didn’t go off and do what I think you have…” he muttered to emptiness in the room. No answer. Voicemail picked up. Logan growled into the speaker, “You’d better be back here soon, Gumbo. I mean it…no heroics.”

                He sighed as he hung up and shoved the thing back in his pocket. He couldn’t sit there and wait, he knew. His nerves would never allow it. As he turned to leave once more he was startled to find someone standing in the doorway, looking as if she were about to knock.

                “Jezus,” Romanov cursed at him, stepping back from the door. She was dressed in a black fur trimmed jacket and tight jeans and knee high boots, her red hair hanging down past her shoulders. “You develop ESP now or something?”

                Logan smiled at her and leaned against the doorframe, “Hello little Red,” he chuckled. “Should I ask why you’re creeping around my doorway? “

                She smirked, “Maybe I’ll tell you, Big Bad Wolvie,” she grinned. “But not here. Looks like you’re on your way out, care to take a drive?”

                “You have a car? In mid-town Manhattan? You must not be planning on going very fast.”

                “I always go fast.”

                Logan locked the door behind him as they went and she cast a little curious glance behind him. “Where’s Gambit?”

 

***

 

                It was a flop house at best. A run-down, mostly boarded up building that was often home to junkies and homeless. There was no heat, but somehow the electricity still worked, and so generators had been brought in to power space heaters in a few of the more steadily occupied apartments. Remy steered clear of all of these, taking Bucky to an apartment on the top floor. It was a place that could only be reached from the outside fire escape, as the upper level stair case to this floor had been ruined for some time, making it impassable for most.

                It was often LeBeau had come here. It was place more frequented by the likes of DeadPool and occasionally Spiderman, and other resident New Yorkers who needed quick shelter. But there was bed, and blankets and a space heater and some medicals supplies and food. And hidden behind a broken light socket in the wall was a cell phone for emergencies.

                Remy deposited the half-conscious assassin on the bed and did a quick sweep to make sure they were in fact alone. He shivered in the bitter chill of the room and kicked the space heater on high before turning to his companion again.

                “Barnes? Come on, homme, talk to me.” He opened up the man’s jacket and pulled up grungy grey hoodie to reveal pale, sweaty skin that was littered with bruises, old scars and new scratches. Remy hissed and pulled it back down again, lifting Bucky’s limp figure against him in order to pull off his clothes.

                The other man groaned and mumbled something incoherent against his shoulder and Remy shushed him, letting his Charm do it’s job, keeping Bucky calm and complacent with him. “Not going to hurt you, homme, need to get you patched up. Not to worry, I got a gentle touch, okay?”

                Stripping the man down to nothing, Remy looked over the damage. It looked like Barnes had come off badly in a boxing match with a couple of grizzlies, or maybe Sabertooth and Juggernaught. He was in a bad way to be sure, but not all the wounds were fresh. There were hundreds of tiny little scars across his pale skin, indicating repeated surgeries or experimentation. Remy felt that ball of ice in his guts harden at the thought. “You poor man…”

                He dragged the first aid kit from under the bed and set to work cleaning and bandaging whatever he could. Barnes was surprisingly passive through it all, which made Remy worry. The man was not quite fully conscious but he was feeling everything, and he was scared.

                Gambit’s fingers brushed a particularly tender spot under his left rib and Bucky whimpered, hands clenching tight. Yet he didn’t try to push Gambit away. The Cajun stopped and leaned over him, “Bucky? Desole, didn’t mean to…I’ll stop. Let you rest.”

                The darker haired man looked at him with some surprise through hooded eyes, like he didn’t understand this mercy the other was bestowing upon him. Gambit felt it too, his confusion, his anxious terror of what Remy might do to him in his venerable state. Almost as he expected torture and punishment. Barnes was too much to take in fact, too raw. He flinched a little, reeling back his charm influence over the man. He’d rather take another metallic punch to the jaw then slowly suffocate on the other man’s agony.

                “M’sieur, whoever did dis to you…let’s just say dey better hope dey never meet me in dark alley.” He said sympathetically. He dug around in the box again and produced a little bottle of pain killers, “T’ink you can swallow a few of dese down? Not sure if de water in here is still running or I could—“

                Barnes was up in a flash, his metallic hand clasping around Gambit’s long neck and squeezing hard as he shoved him down on the mattress. Remy’s eyes bugged, he trying to claw the man away from him, but the other man was too heavy, too _strong_ to simply push away.

                “Who are you working for?” he hissed in Remy’s ear, squeezing hard enough to make Gambit’s wheeze out a yelp. He loosed his grip enough to let the man speak, “N-no one!” he gurgled.

                Barnes continued to strangle him, this time yanking his arm back so hard behind him that it dislodged from its socket. Remy screamed, but the sound barely registered. “Who are you working for?!” Bucky demanded again.

                His eyes tearing up, face already flushed with blood, Gambit managed to wiggle his other hand free. He grabbed Bucky’s cybernetic arm and gave him a warning glared, “Let…me go…or we both…die…” He sent a spark of energy rippling through metallic coils, and Barnes jolted. He remembered what Gambit could do with such a charge, he had seen it twice now. He’d blow him apart.

                For a few seconds the two continued to stare at each other, Gambit getting weaker and his eyes glaring harder into the other man’s, while Barnes struggled with himself. Was this right? Should he trust him? So much of his programming demanded he kill him, but…

                Slowly, one by one, the fingers uncurled themselves from Gambit’s throat. The Cajun gulped down a screaming breath, and laid limply upon the mattress, coughing and wheezing, unable to move his left arm, which dangled disjointedly to the side.

                Barnes sat back over him, confused…considering…

                “Are you SHEILD?” he asked.

                Remy shook his head. “X-Man…” he mumbled.

                The Winter Soldier considered this answer for a moment, feeling as though the word was familiar but not being able to place it. He grabbed his pants off the bed and slid them back on, leaving Gambit on the bed as he made his own sweep of the room, looking for signs of surveillance or of someone else being present. But they were completely alone.

                Only after he was convinced of this did he turn back to the man on the bed, studying him in unnerving silence. Remy gripped his dislocated arm and slowly pushed himself up, his neck bright glaring red from his companion’s mistreatment. “You sure got some way of thankin’ people…” he mumbled.

                Barnes looked at his arm and then moved forward, placing one hand on Remy’s shoulder, “Hold still.”

                “Wait--!”

                With a quick jerk and thrust, he forced his arm back into the socket. Gambit bellowed again, but then sat panting as the pain subsided. He rolled his shoulder, just to test it. Everything felt sore, but normal again. He stared at Barnes. “Are you crazy?”

                Bucky only looked back at him with those big wounded eyes ringed with black circles. “Had to be sure…you could have been one of them.”

                “If I was, why de fuck would I go through all dis shit tryin to help you?”

                “You’d be surprised.”

                “Dat’s fucked up.” He stood up, coughing and still rubbing his wounded throat and fumbled for the mini fridge, from which he pulled a bottle of water and gulped it down. “A moment ago, you looked too weak to lift a finger…next minute you tryin’ to crush m’ windpipe. Ya should learn ta play nicer wit your friends…”

                “We are not friends,” the darker haired man spat. Remy simply shook his head, still slurping water from the bottle and trying to get his wind back. “How do you know Steve Rogers?”

                “I don’t. Not well, anyway. He’s an Avenger…we tend to run in similar circles.”

                Bucky considered this silently. He was looking a bit wilted again. Remy figured the adrenaline rush was fading for him, soon he’d be flopped over again, too tired to move. But he wasn’t going to let his guard down this time.

                “But you don’t have any contact with him directly?”

                “Non.”

                “Then you might be useful to me.”

                Gambit laughed, which made him cough more, and slumped down into a crouch against the wall. “Well! You get right to de point, don’t ya! Have to say dis for you, M’sieur Barnes, you’re too de point. Must have been what Logan liked so much about you…”

                Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Logan?”

                The Cajun waved him off, “Look, mon ami, I can appreciate dat you in a bad way right now. You running from Hydra and you scared shitless, as you should be, but if you want _my_ help, you’re gonna have to use a little finesse, a little courtesy. Cause dis Cajun don’t go for being man handled and ordered around like a dog. You try ta touch me again…” He charged the empty bottle in his hand and tossed it into the air, letting it explode with a quick bang and flash of magenta light and rain of ashes. “And I start playin’ nasty.”

                The Assassin nodded in understanding, limp hair hanging in his face. “You have powers.”

                “You’re observant. Told ya I was a mutant. Dat’s usually part of de package.” He cocked his head, studying the other man. “Why do you need someone who knows Rogers, but doesn’t have a direct link to ‘im?”

                Barnes tensed, looking away, staring out the window beyond.

                “Come on now, homme. Friends share t’ings wit each other. If you want my help, I’m gonna need more information.” He pushed himself back up the wall. “Otherwise, you on your own. And we both know in de shape you’re in, you won’t last long. Don’t t’ink you want Hydra to catch up wit ya. Not sure you’d survive it.”

                Bucky heard it in his voice, but also saw it in his face. That strange look of pity, empathy. It was almost foreign to him. So much so it made him uncomfortable. “Whether I survive is not your concern. Steve Rogers has to be protected.”

                “From what?”

                He shook his head, “You don’t need to know that. Not yet.”

                Remy moved closer, kneeling on the bed. He looked Barnes right in the face and let out as much of his Charm as he dared. He saw it grip the other man. He saw how his expression turned from harden resolved to confusion to lust and longing. “Blowing t’ings up ain’t all I can do,” he said, pushing Bucky’s hair from his face. “Can _make_ you trust me…make you want to bend over and do back flips too…but, I ain’t dat kinda man.” He kissed the man’s cheek and sat back, allowing his influence to recede. Bucky shivered in the aftermath, looking a bit frightened for the experience.

                “Bastard,”

                Gambit grinned. “I know. But, here we are now, all de cards out on de table. You could snap me like a twig, I could make you throw yourself off a building to impress me. We both dangerous. But we both know better. So let’s stop fucking around and trust each other…ca va?”

                He extended his hand to Barnes, who slowly took it, shaking it awkwardly. Apparently he hadn’t done something like this in a long time. Remy nodded and returned to his congenial self. “Alright den. Now…what’s Hydra planning for Mr. Stars and Stripes?”

 

***


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

***

 

                Logan glanced over at the woman next to him in the driver’s seat. “How are ya, Tasha?” he asked casually.

                “Great,” she answered, “I’ve been utterly compromised, all my sealed files exposed…and no SHIELD to back me up. I’d say I’m just swell.” She smirked at him. “And you? You look…happier than usual.”

                Logan chuckled and looked back out at the swirling snow that had begun to fall around them. “Yeah, guess I am.”

                “Guess that smooth talking thief has been pretty good to you, hmm?” she said knowingly.

Logan chuckled. “And what would you know about it? Know you’ve got better things to do than spy on a couple of muties like us.”

“Maybe.” She reached across him and opened the glove compartment, and produced a file, which she tossed in his lap. Logan opened it casually and began flipping through the documents inside. Most were of Rogers, and few more were of Barnes, and others were various strangers in lab coats that he didn’t recognize.

“Right now I’ve got my hands full with babysitting our mutual friend. As you can tell, he’s been somewhat preoccupied. He’s not thinking about how vulnerable he’s become, or the fact that Hydra singled him out as their first target during and after the take-over. They’re cooking up something big, Logan. Something that will bring him to his knees.”

“If you ask me they’ve already done that.” Wolverine sighed. “Surprised they aren’t taking the obvious approach and dangling Barnes in front of him like a carrot on a string. He’d come running right into any trap.”

“They would, except the ‘carrot’ suddenly got his free will back, or at least some of it, and is running around loose. But, don’t you worry, they’ve compensated for that.”

She pulled a paper from the back of the file, calling his attention to it. It looked to be some a photocopy of some scribbled notes; something Logan couldn’t quite read as it was full of equations and bad handwriting in German. “Am I supposed to know what this is?”

“It’s a formula for a counter serum,” Natasha replied. “At least, that’s what Coulson’s crew has been able to decipher. It’ll basically undo all of Steve’s Super Soldier abilities…if it doesn’t outright kill him.” She looked at Logan seriously, “We can never let him get anywhere near it.”

“That’s a no brainer. So…keep him away from needles and any suspicious gases.” Logan shrugged.

“Steve’s not aware of the serum.”

“Why not?”

Here the young woman looked away, her lips a tight thin lip, hands gripping the wheel a little too tightly. Logan gave her a side-long look of disgust, “You gotta be _shitting me_ , Tasha. They don’t want Rogers to know because, what, they want to get the serum for themselves? In case they ever need to shut him down?”

“I don’t like it anymore than you, Logan.”

“Then tell him.”

Natasha licked her lips nervously. “I will…but not yet.”

Logan groaned and rubbed his forehead. “ _This_ is why I hate spies.”

“As I recall, you used to be a pretty good one.”

“Yeah, I was. But it wasn’t worth it, for all the shit I did, all the shit that was done to me in return. Or have you forgotten that time you shot me to keep your cover?” he asked.

The Black Widow glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as they turned, finally breaking away from traffic and heading towards Avenger Tower. “You remember that? I was just…just a little girl.”

Logan snorted. “You ain’t never been a _little girl_ , Tasha. You were always a Black Widow. But, you ain’t got to keep doing dirty work for the highest bidder. Not even SHIELD. You got the Avengers now.”

“And who do you think owns the Avengers?” she retorted.

“No one _owns_ you, if you don’t let them.” Wolverine replied. They turned down a narrow alley that was almost invisible to the naked eye and drove towards what appeared to be a dead end, only to find that the wall opened up into an underground garage, containing multiple vehicles, ranging from expensive sports cars (mostly belonging to Stark), motorcycles and other more covert methods of transportation.

They parked and when they did Natasha tossed her head back, smoothing back her hair and staring up at the ceiling. “Not all of us have the options you do, Logan. Not all of us can start over.”

“I make my own options,” Logan grunted climbing out of the car and coming around to her side, leaning on the door frame and staring at her through the window. “You gotta start thinking about who’s gonna be there for you when all the chips are down, when you got nothing to barter with, nothing to extort with. Who’s gonna have your back? SHIELD? Coulson and Fury? Or that kid from Brooklyn?”

She looked up at him, looking for a moment like the little girl she had once been, full of rage and struggling for footing in a heartless world. Wolverine opened the door for her and she stepped out before turning and giving him a hug. “I think I liked you better when you were just that creepy guy in the bad white tuxedo with the eye patch, acting like you walked out of _Casablanca._ ”

“We’ll always have Madripoor, kid.” He chuckled.

They turned and started walking through the garage, only to be met by a new presence. Wolverine didn’t know this one; the lean young man with the bright eyes, short stubble of hair and dark skin, but he recognized him from the news footage.

“Oh now this _can’t_ be _the_ Wolverine, can it?” Sam chuckled as they approached. “Holy shit, I woulda worn my X-Men fanboy shirt if I’d known you were gonna show up.”

“Logan, this is Sam Wilson.”

Wolverine extended his hand and slapped it into Sam’s, giving him a hard shake. The other man laughed and then pulled away, shaking off the tight grip. “Damn, you’ve got quite the grip!”

“Comes with the territory.” Logan nodded.

Sam turned to Natasha then, “Not so sure now’s a great time for company though,” he cautioned. “It’s been…somewhat _uncomfortable_ upstairs since they came back.”

Natasha sighed and pushed past the two of them, moving towards the elevator, grumbling to herself. Sam watched her go and then glanced back at Logan. “Man, you are _a lot_ shorter in person.”

Wolverine gave him a sidelong glance and pulled another cigar from the pocket of his leather jacket, chewing on the end as he moved forward, “Yeah, and you’re a lot skinnier. Bet Cap could bench press you, bird boy. But then again….maybe you’d like that.”

Sam chuckled as he followed him. “Now why does everyone have to go and assume—?“

 

**

 

                When they arrived at the penthouse, however, there was none of the expected arguing or throwing of objects. In fact, the only noise to greet them was the sound of Christmas carols playing over the penthouse speakers.

                Tony was parked on one of the large sectionals, a tumbler of coffee in one hand, and the other busily flipping through the holographic screens that surrounded him. He was dressed in a red tank top and lounge pants that bore Cap’s shield emblem. “Well ho-ho-ho, here comes the rest of Santa’s reindeer,” he called, glancing up as they piled into the room. “Ooh, and looks like they brought back a renegade badger as well. Hmm, well, all types are welcome in Santa’s workshop!”

                “You and Cap kiss and make up yet?” Logan grunted, breaking away from the other two as he cast about for signs of Rogers.

                “Of course. Not that it’s any of your business,” Tony replied, the pointed to his short tussled hair, “I mean…you noticed the sex hair, right?”

                Natasha rolled her eyes, as did Sam. “Where is Cap?” he asked.

                “Getting some much needed shut eye.” Tony nodded, “So you know, keep it down.”

                “Thought you were too busy to stop by, Logan. What changed your mind?” he added. Wolverine continued to skulk about the apartment, glaring at all the high tech and the painful modern design. It was boring, cold and sterile in his opinion. Give him the X Mansion any day.

                “The fact that I came back to an empty hotel room. Seems Remy decided to go do some sight -seeing without me,” he replied.

                “Aw, you’re breaking my heart,” Tony scoffed.

                Logan looked at him seriously, still chewing his cigar. “Thing of it is, it’s not like Remy to just run off without a word or a note or… _something_.”

                “Really? Cause you know, I would think that would be _exactly_ what a part time thief would do. I mean, do you indulge his larceny or are just an enabler?” Tony asked, voice still playful but edged with a hint of snarky resentment.

                Logan was about to reply when his phone rang. He grabbed at it in a hurry, glancing at the screen to confirm that it was indeed Gambit calling. But it came from a number he didn’t recognize. With a Brooklyn area code.

                “Rems? Where are you?”

                _“Cher, are you alone?”_

                Logan glanced up at the three pairs of eyes watching him. “Not exactly. What’s wrong?”

                _“Are you wit Rogers?”_

                Tony flicked at something and suddenly Logan’s phone went to speaker, startling him. “Hey, Gambit, how’s it going?”

                _“Stark?”_

                “Aw isn’t that sweet? He remembers my voice. He _should_ of course, after the last time we met, and I’d promised him I would ring his neck for stealing my last shipment of new SHIELD tech and then _re-selling_ it back to my own company at three times the price!”

                _“I only did de stealin’, M’sieur. You’ll have to take de rest up wit de Guild.”_

                “Shut up,” Logan muttered to Stark, moving away from the crowd and flicking the speaker off. “Darlin’, where are you? Everything alright?”

                _“Not per say. I’ve got Barnes.”_

Logan stilled, staring out the large plate glass window at the city far below. “What?” he asked quietly.

                _“He needs help. I’ve got him, at one of my safe houses. Gonna keep him here for a time, but…dere’s a bigger problem at hand.”_

“Rems, this was no concern of yours. Why did you have go sticking your neck out…”

                _“Barnes is being followed by Hydra Agents. De city’s crawling wit ‘em in fact, we took out several trying ta get here. They’re waiting for Rogers to finally catch up with ‘im, den dey’re gonna make their move.”_

“And what move is that?”

                Remy paused, _“Not sure yet. Guy’s in a bad way, a hell of a mess, ya know, upstairs. I’m gonna take care of ‘im best I can, but…we need an exit strategy.”_

                “Right. You okay to sit tight for now?”

                _“Can do, mon amour.”_

                “He makes a move Rems…he turns…you—“

                _“It won’t come to dat. Let Rogers know I won’t let it come to dat.”_

                Logan sighed and nodded. “Alright.” He turned off the phone and turned back to the others, who were all looking at him expectantly. Except for Natasha, who seemed to have disappeared.

                “Aw hell!” Logan groaned, starting out after her, Tony and Sam hot on his heels.

 

**

               

                Barnes slept for a time, though it was more like a black out. He seemed to just shut down suddenly, as if someone had flipped a switch. Gambit half worried someone had, but given the man’s condition, it was likely that his exhaustion had simply caught up to him at last.

                After contacting Logan, Remy returned the phone to its hiding place. The information Barnes had given him rolled around in his head, unable to settle. Apparently someone had been tailing Bucky for sometime, someone he knew only as Rumlow. Barnes remembered the man being present during many of his training sessions, and at several of his…’reprogramming’ ones as well. From what he could piece together, Rumlow had something that could hurt Steve. He was following Bucky, knowing eventually he’d get close enough to Rogers, then he would force Bucky to deal the fatal blow. How and with what…the former assassin didn’t know.

There were too many questions, too many variables, too much uncertainty. What did he expect though, from the state of the man? Bucky had been broken and put back together so many times, it was a wonder he was functioning at all.

                He huddled himself on the floor, close to the space heater, despite the fact he was still bundled in his coat. Gambit hated the cold, but he ignored deep chill that filled the empty building made his bones ache, distracting himself with a game of solitaire. He needed to stay sharp, loose, alert.

                He heard a faint rumble from downstairs then that made him look up from his game. He glanced quickly to Barnes, but found the man hadn’t stirred from his place on the mattress, bundled under the thermal blankets Remy had covered him with. Still, Gambit couldn’t be sure if he was really asleep or just lying in wait.

                He stood slowly and padded towards the door, testing the knob and peering out the peep hole before stepping outside in the dark, barren hallway. The sound was a little louder out there, but no less distant. Gambit softly closed the door behind him and padded along the thread-bare carpet to the edge of the ruined stairwell. He stared down into the void that led down to the next two floors. He could see people moving below, noting the faint flicker of lights.

                He crouched against the wall and listened. He felt breath behind him then, and sensed Barnes a moment before the man spoke. “Don’t move. I’ll handle them.” The man behind him said.

                Remy held up a hand to stop him, “Shh! Dey don’t know we’re here. It’s just a bunch of junkie kids…no idea we’re up here. Dey won’t give us no trouble.” He whispered. He noticed that the dark haired man was brandishing a deadly looking knife. “For fucks sake, put dat away! Where de hell were you hiding dat?!” he gasped, standing up and putting his hand over Bucky’s. “On second thought, don’t answer dat. Not sure I wanna know.”

                Bucky looked at him strangely, always glaring but somehow confused. “We can’t take any chances. Hydra is everywhere.”

                Remy gave him another charming smile, “Don’t be so serious, mon ami. Hydra may be the perpetual snake in de grass, but dis Cajun comes from de swamp. I know how to spot a snake.” They stood a moment longer, looking at the comings and goings below them, Bucky still gripping his knife, ready to attack. He was so tense, that Gambit guessed it was taking every ounce of free will he had to resist his programing.

                “You were one of de good guys once, Barnes. You know de difference between civilians and enemies.” Finally he let his hand drop and Gambit exhaled a little deeper. “D’atta boy.”

                The former assassin glared at him again, “You are too trusting. If we had met under different circumstances, you would already be dead.”

                Gambit put his arm around him and lead him back to the room, “Ah, but de odds are always in my favor, cher. Now come on, I bet you could use a hot meal. Dere’s a little pizza place around de corner from here dat’s mighty fine in a pinch.”

                Bucky seemed confused by the idea of “pizza” but nodded slowly as they stepped back inside the apartment, continuing to hear the people below them go about their business. “Bet it’s been awhile since you had a slice, eh? Did dey even _have_ pizza in de forties?”

                His companion stared out the window at the city beyond and at the dim grey sky that spewed snow down on it, covering its grimy exterior in purifying white. “This place feels familiar. Like a dream I’ve had over and over.” He said softly.

                “You from here, non?”

                “I…don’t remember.”

                He leaned his head against the window sill. “Since I… _defected_ …I’ve been trying to find this man that Steve Rogers calls ‘Bucky’ inside of me. But…I’m not sure he still exists.”

                “Of course he does, he’s you.”

                The shaggy haired soldier shook his head slowly. “You don’t understand…I don’t…I don’t know how to _be_ Bucky Barnes. I don't have any clear memory of him.”

                Gambit looked at him sympathetically. “Give yourself some time, mon ami. Don’t focus on who dey t’ink you should be. Just focus on who _you_ want to be. Dat’s all dat matters in de end.”

                Again that lost look appeared in the man’s eyes. He rubbed his good arm absently and shivered in the cold. He was still shirtless. “I don’t know how.”

                Remy took the man’s sweatshirt from the edge of the bed and held it out to him. “Well, let’s start wit what we know. You want to help Cap. Dat’s a good start. You also didn’t _kill_ me, which you’ve had at least three chances to. Thanks, by de way.”

                Barnes nodded. “It’s not much to go on.”

                Remy glanced away, warming his gloved hands over the space heater. “You know…I have friends who might be able to put you right again. Telepaths. It might take some doing, but they could help you piece together your memories. Get through all that brainwashing and programing.”

                His companion seemed to consider, but the Cajun could feel waves of fear coming off him. “It’s only a suggestion.” He shrugged.

                Silence filled the room for a time before Barnes spoke again. “What do you get out of this?” he asked. Gambit cocked his head, looking at him pensively, chin resting on his palm.

                “Quoi?”

                “I know I asked for your help. But I didn’t expect…what do you gain from this partnership? I can give you information on Hydra, but…how much would be of use, I have no idea.”

                Gambit smiled again, and Bucky was growing almost fond of the sight. “Call me a sucker for hard luck cases, mon frere. I hate to see a man suffer de way you have. I ain’t never been a victim of Nazi’s but…I’ve seen some shit. So, maybe I know a little about where you comin’ from.”

                “I’m a murderer. What would an X-Man know of such things?”

                Remy laughed, but it was hard sound. “You ain’t de only one to ever get blood on your hands. At least you did it because ya had no other choice. _Really_ no other choice. Hydra took all dat away from you. But me…” he idly turned over his cards. “My sins are my own. And I spend every day tryin’ ta make dem right.” He stood up, stretching and cracking his back. “So, how about dat slice?”

 

**

 

                Dark fell early, and this time Remy found himself dozing, his back against the wall as he sat on one end of the mattress, lazily watching Bucky tear through half a large pizza by himself. “Slow down homme,” he mumbled after awhile. “Dat stuff sits like a rock in your stomach if ya eat too much. All dat cheese and grease…”

                Barnes wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, looking almost embarrassed. “Sorry. I just…”

                “Don’t have to explain. I know.” Remy nodded, tapping the side of his head. “I’m an empath. You know what dat is?”

                The dark haired man shook his head slowly. “Means I can read other people’s emotions…which I can den use to relate back to dem. People call it my ‘Charm’. Personally, I call it exhaustin’. Especially here. Dis whole city is so damn…a _ngry._ Give me good old New Orleans any day, I tell you…”

                Bucky closed the pizza box and placed it on the floor. He stood up and moved towards the doorway, listening silently for a moment, then glanced back at Gambit. “When will the man you call Logan arrive?”

                This made Remy sit up curiously. “What?”

                “I heard you speaking on the phone. When will he arrive?”

                “I…”

                “He’s your lover. Isn’t he?”

                Remy found himself almost blushing at the blunt way the strange man put it. “Yes, not dat it’s any of your business.”

                Barnes looked away, watching out the peep hole, listening again. "Lovers are liablities. Weaknesses that are easy to exploit. You should be careful." Remy smirked. “He’s a good man, y' know. Friends wit Steve. Close friends. In fact…you might remember him.”

                The man by the door cocked an eyebrow in curiosity, and Remy felt a little more assured of his humanity in the small gesture. “Logan is…special. He doesn’t age. Been around a long time. Fought in de first and second world war. Along side you and de Captain for a time, as I understand.”

                The name seemed to trigger something in Bucky’s memory. He clutched his head, eyes suddenly cloudy and distant. He groaned, falling against the door, and Remy was up in a moment, reaching to brace him. “Easy! Easy!”

                “Logan…” Bucky repeated, voice thick and groggy, “something…something about that name. That man…something _important_.”

                Remy tucked the man’s head under his chin and sat on the floor with him. “Shh. Let it come on its own. Don’t force it. It’s alright.”

                “No…you don’t understand….” He groaned, gripping Remy for support, hands shaking. There was a soft sound behind them then. Gambit pulled Barnes hard against him and fell backwards, flipping a card behind him towards the window.

                With a loud pop and bang it exploded, and it’s intended target barely had time to leap clear. She was a blur of movement, raising a gun at the two men as she hit the ground. She fired something and caught Barnes in the neck.

                Bucky grunted in pain, pulling a small dart from his skin. He was up, breaking free of Gambit’s grip, leaping towards the woman with lightening quick reflexes. She fired at him again, but he deflected the dart with his arm and countered by throwing a powerful punch that she barely blocked, knocking her back against the wall, which rattled.

                “Natasha?!” Gambit gasped from the floor.

                “How about a little _help_ here, LeBeau!” the woman called, lifting her knee and striking Barnes in the side, only to have him grab her ankle and twist her. She flipped and spun with the force, managing to catch him in the face with her other foot several times, making him drop back.

                “Bucky stop! Both of you—“ He pulled his retractable staff from his coat pocket and unfurled it, letting his charge surge through its adamantium core then striking the ground with it, causing a massive shock wave that knocked them both off their feet. “STOP IT!”

                Natasha groaned as she tried to pick herself up from the floor, and Remy pointed his staff at her as a warning to be still; _“Don’t_ cherie. What’s de big idea creepin in here like dat, startin’ a fuss?”

                “I thought…”

                Remy turned away before she could answer and moved to check on Barnes, who was still slumped against the wall. “You okay?”

                The shaggy haired man moaned softly, blinking up at him, disoriented. “That was… _something_.” He chuckled faintly. “Where was _that_ in the alley earlier?”

                “I was being _kind._ ” Gambit said with a wink, extending his hand and pulling the man to his feet. He swayed slightly and Remy braced him. Natasha had righted herself as well then, looking at the two of them curiously.

                “Well, you didn’t waste any time making friends I see,” she sighed, folding her arms once more. “You might want to lay him down.”

                “What, why?”

                Bucky’s eyes rolled up and he went limp then, Remy barely catching him before he went face first to the floor. The man was heavier than he looked, thanks to his metal enhancements. Gambit lifted him and laid him on the mattress, pushing aside his dirty hair and examining the little red puncture wound in his neck.

                “For God’s sake--!”

                “Precautionary. Just a sedative.”

                “I _had_ it under control.” Remy seethed. “Didn’t need your help.” He looked worriedly down at Barnes again, _“Fuck_ …!” he seethed, glowering at the woman. “Get outta here! Now!”

                The red haired spy let out a little snort of surprise, eyeing the tall man. “Okay, clearly that shock wave rattled your brains, if you think I take orders from you, sweetie. I’m here on behalf of SHEILD.”

                “ ‘Course you are. But what does dat mean to me exactly? Ain’t got no government leash on me.”

                “Gambit, this is no time to play stupid games. Logan won’t be far behind me, I'm sure. Just release Barnes over to us, we’ll take care of him. You did a good job, getting him away from Hydra. I’m sure Steve will thank you, and you can go back to your holiday.”

                But Remy wasn’t backing down. “Non, desole, Natasha, but none of dis sits right wit me. You coming in and takin’ him by force is only gonna make him worse. Don’t you get it, SHIELD, Hydra, dey all de same to him! He needs someone to _help_ him, not scrape his brains for information!”

                “We can’t do that until we know he isn’t going to snap and try to take us all down. He’s a ticking time bomb, got it?”

                “He’s not a bomb or a weapon. He’s a god damn _person._ ”

                Natasha stepped closer to him, looking at him with cold severity. “I’m going to warn you one last time. _Back. Off.”_

                “If Cap saw you now, how’d you t’ink he react? Thought you cared about him, and what he wanted.”

                She didn’t back down, but Remy sensed a crack in her resolve. “Look, we are on the same side here. We both want to help him. Right now, it just has to be this way, until we know what Hydra is up to and how he’s involved.”

                “Dis is Fury talkin’, not you, cherie.” He didn’t move from his protective position over Barnes, but reached to touch her arm, opening up his Charm influence just the tiniest bit. Of course, the woman seemed to sense it the moment he did, because she turned and punched him. Gambit spun away, spitting blood.

                “ _Merde!”_

                “Don’t you ever try that shit on me again.”

                Remy nodded, rubbing his jaw. She sighed as she looked down at the Winter Soldier sprawled on the bed, suddenly unsure what direction to take. “Damn it. _Damn it!_ ” she groaned. “ _Fine_. Help me get him back to Steve then. We’ll sort it out from there.”

                Gambit shook his head, “Sure, petite, but dere’s somethin’ you gotta know first—“

                Natasha never heard the rest of his explanation. A second later the door of the apartment had been blown wide, striking them with splinters of wood and shattered bits of plaster and drywall propelled by a small explosion.

                Blown back by the blast, Romanov struck the wall near the window and went down in a ball, covering her head and neck as heat surged all around her, followed by smoke and cinders and falling debris. She coughed and choked, trying to shake the blindness from her eyes.

                “Gambit…Gambit!?” she called, barely hearing her own voice as she had been temporarily deafened by the sound.

                As her vision began to clear she looked up over the protective crook of her arm, and saw a figure standing in the doorway. Natasha was sure she had seen him somewhere before, but couldn’t place him. He looked nearly as broad and muscular as Steve, perhaps slightly smaller, decked in combat gear with heavy bandoliers of bullets slung across his chest. His face was partially obscured by a black and white mask that resembled a skull.

                His eyes met hers as he stepped through the smoldering doorway, heedless of the burning debris or the screams from downstairs. Natasha began backing up the wall, still unsure where Gambit or Barnes were among the remains of the room. She was reaching for the loaded gun that was strapped to her thigh as the man in front of her spoke.

                “Agent Romanov? You’re looking well.” he grinned, showing a toothy smile. “Thanks, by the way, for the distraction. Here I thought getting the drop on my run away would be difficult, but you did all the hard work for me.”

                “Who the hell are you?”

                He raised his machine gun and aimed at it her. “Bitch. I used to bring you fucking coffee. And you can’t even remember my face?”

                He pulled his hood back a little further and Natasha’s eyes widened. “Damn…Rumlow?”

                He grinned again. “Actually, it’s ‘ _Crossbones_ ’ now. New name to go with my new Hydra sponsored make over.” He had her in his crosshairs. “Too bad you missed out.” He fired.

                Natasha threw herself backwards out the window just in time to avoid being peppered with bullets. But she had literally leapt from the frying pan into the fire. In free fall, she tried weigh her options. She was eight stories up, the fall would certainly kill her if she didn’t soften it, but there was nowhere safe to land and no way to propel herself towards any of the lower roof tops. Things looked…admittedly bleak.

                Suddenly something collided with her, grabbing her beneath the arms and knees. She felt gravity shift abruptly with a whir and whoosh and found herself clinging to Iron Man. “Alright there, Nat?” Tony asked from behind the mask.

                She nodded dizzily and pointed back towards the apartment. “They need help,”

                “I’m on it,” he assured her, darting around the corner of the apartment building and depositing her safely on the roof top of the neighboring one, as Falcon came soaring in, crashing through the ruined window, dropping a smoke grenade as he did so.

                He had only enough to time to use shield himself with one of his own wings as Rumlow opened fire on him, but the bullets deflected off the wing tips, scattering everywhere. Sam frantically searched the apartment for signs of survivors, and spotted Gambit sprawled on the ground, unmoving. There was, however, no sign of Barnes.

                Fighting his way through the heavy chemical fog and the smoke from the fire, he tried to reach the downed mutant, only to have himself suddenly seized from behind and thrown through the wall. Sam went crashing through another derelict apartment, with Rumlow pummeling him with monstrous fists and strength that he could not have previously possessed, until he was actually pounded through the floor, crashing down through the void into the drug den below.

                He laid their moaning and wheezing, dust raining down on him. “A little help here!” he called.

                The request was met by a loud boom as Stark came into view above, punching and battering the Hydra agent, whom he let fall to the floor below, creating a notable creator in the dingy floor board.

                “You alright Falcon?”

                Sam was already struggling to his feet, “Fine, but we got a man down and another missing!” he called, shaking off his dented wings and making his way towards the stairwell. “Gotta get ‘im outta there before the whole place comes down!”

                As Tony and Rumlow continued to brawl, the unarmored man standing up surprisingly well against Iron Man’s powerful attacks, Sam heard more voices and the sound of people running towards the building. One glance into the foyer confirmed his fears; Rumlow hadn’t come alone. More Hydra agents were swarming the building, no doubt set on taking back Barnes, and taking out whoever they could in the process.

                “Ah shit, I knew I shoulda staid home!” he muttered, grabbing his own gun and laying down a layer of cover fire as he made his way back up the stairwell. He didn’t get far, however, when he realized that the stairs had been blown out.

                With three agents on his heels, Sam emptied his clip, managing to do no more than stun the advancing parties, as he had been aiming for their vests, which were undoubtedly bullet proof, before turning and making a wild leap towards a rusty, dangling bit of stair railing that was suspended over the void.

                He made it by a thread and hoisted himself up to the landing, narrowly missing getting bullet in the back as he did so. He took the steps two and three at time, only to find himself met by more opposition on the upper level landing.

                “Dammit, don’t you guys ever take a damn break?” he cursed, punching and kicking his way through them. He received cattle prod to the side which jolted him and made him scream. Stunned, he tried to regroup, only to be clouted brutally about the head.

                He would have been down for the count, were it not for Wolverine, who appeared from an adjacent apartment, carving his way through the ground troops with terrifying ease. “You okay?” he shouted over the sound of Tony and Crossbones destroying the foundation.

                Wilson nodded groggily, “Yeah—“

                “Where’s Gambit?!”

                Falcon pointed above. Logan’s eyes widened and he charged towards the stairs again. “Get outta here, this place is about to go!” he shouted back to him.

                “Logan wait!”

 

                Wolverine either didn’t hear or chose to ignore Sam’s warning, bounding up the stairs, taking gun fire as he went and skewering anyone who got in his way. He finally made his way to the top floor where his lover and Barnes had been hiding out. The hall was choked with smoke and a fire had started in the decaying walls, making the heat unbearable.

                Ashes fell on him as he fought his way through the debris of the room, “REMY! GAMBIT!” he shouted.

                No response came. A ceiling beam came down and Logan had to jump back to avoid it. “REMY! WHERE ARE YOU?!”

                He saw a shadow through the smoke, and was startled to see Barnes, carrying someone over his shoulder. For a minute the two locked eyes across the burning room, then Bucky was gone, leaping out the window. Logan shouted after them, plowing through the fire, not caring how it seared him, and crouched on the ledge.

                He saw that Barnes had landed on a nearby garage, and was already gone, a familiar trench-coat wearing figure dangling from his arms.

                A bullet ripped through Logan’s chest, followed by another and then another. Stunned, he fell forward, crashing towards the Earth below. He should have shattered on the pavement, but a pair of strong arms wrapped around him and brought him to the ground safely, rolling across it in a tight ball, the sound of more gunfire _plink plink plinking_ off metal.

                Wolverine opened his eyes to see Steve Rogers wrapped around him, holding his Shield over them in an effort to protect them. “Good timing Cap,” Logan grinned through bloody lips.

                “You alright?” Steve grunted.

                “Only three rounds. I’m fine,” he grunted, the offending metal already falling from his skin as the wounds closed themselves.

                “Good.” Steve was up suddenly, abandoning him on the pavement as he charged ahead into the fray. Logan lay there catching his breath, knowing that look on Roger’s face could only mean that they were all about to have their asses handed to them.

                He stood, turning his attention to the roof top where Gambit and Barnes had disappeared. Nose to the wind, he took off running, leaving the Avengers to their work. He had Remy to worry about. Following his lover's scent, it wasn’t long before Wolverine caught up to their trail, and something he didn’t expect.

                Barnes was waiting for him, several buildings over. The dark haired assassin was gingerly depositing Gambit's limp figure on the roof top. Remy looked battered, burned and bloodied, but was still in one piece.

                Logan tensed, wanting to run to him, but unsure what the Winter Soldier would do if he did. “What’s yer deal, Barnes?” he called them, voice more guttural than usual from all the smoke and the still healing wounds in his lungs.

                The defected assassin stared at him for a moment. “He’s alive. Take him home, while you still can. He tried to help me.”

                “I know he did. We all want to. So you gotta stop running, turn yourself in.”

                Barnes shook his head. “I’m too dangerous to be around him.”

                “Who?” Logan asked, though he knew the answer already.

                “Tell them I’m sorry.” With that Barnes turned and fled across the roof top, disappearing once more. Logan moved towards Remy the moment he disappeared over the edge, gingerly gathering the Cajun in his arms.

 

***


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Hey guys! Hope you're all having a great holiday season!  
> Sorry that updates have been unusually slow, I started a new job and it has been eating up much of time, but I will try to continue to update this and my other fics as often as possible! Thanks for reading!

 

***

               

                No words would come.

                Steve felt…barren. Empty. Used up. Too tired to even react anymore. So he didn’t. He didn’t react. He didn’t say a word.

                Anger was still there, a dull burning ember somewhere below the cooling surface. He felt it flare a little whenever he saw a news cast about the debacle in Brooklyn, or heard whispering in the corridors of the tower and corners of the common rooms by his teammates. It burned low and slow when he had debriefed Coulson.

                That man worshiped him. But that day he had looked at Steve with…disappointment. Concern. “You look tired, Rogers. You need to step back from this, take a break.”

                Steve felt like he had “taken a break” for 70 years. Sitting back and letting other people handle his problems was not his style. And he wasn’t going to change that, not for SHEILD or Coulson or anyone. How dare he suggest Steve had made the search for the Winter Soldier into something “too personal”. Steve glowered down at the city. It _was_ personal. How could it be anything but? Coulson wanted him to treat Barnes like a fugitive, like his _enemy._ Never.

                Heavy flakes of snow fell from the sky, fluttering silently down on the city below, muffling the noise. Steve wished they would muffle the noise in his mind as well. He found his eyes were burning, wet, tired. He didn’t know if the impending tears were ones of frustration or exhaustion or hopelessness maybe…he blinked them away, letting them melt like the snow on his skin. Moments like these, he almost wished he had been left in the ice. He breathed heavily, letting his breath swirl in front of him a frosty cloud and rubbed his red rimmed eyes. He ached from lack of sleep. He was not supposed to feel this weak, this vulnerable. Captain America didn’t get tired, he didn’t get stressed out. But Steve Rogers… _that_ was a different story. Steve and Cap. Two different personas, who wanted very different things right now it seemed.

                Cap knew this mission could only end in tears, for everybody. His obsession was hurting his focus, hurting his objectivity, and hurting his team. It had nearly ended poor Gambit’s life. The man was still recovering downstairs. And then there was Tony. Stark was in hot water with him, for sure, but Steve couldn’t put all the blame on him. Things between them had always been tumultuous. But Steve had grown to love Tony. And now…that love…where had it gone? It hadn’t vanished, per say. When he looked at the short, bearded man he still felt that deep affection, that need to protect and impress and so many other things.

                But Bucky had been his first love. That one, amazing love that stays with you forever, whether it worked out in the end or not. Bucky had been ripped away from him by war, and Steve had _never_ gotten over it. No one knew, of course. No one understood.

                He thought maybe Sam and Natasha did. At least, they had a fleeting glimpse of it. They had seen how far Steve would go for the mysterious man, what he was willing to risk to bring him back. He had talked with Sam once about it, in the hospital, in a particularly low moment. Wilson was nothing but supportive on the matter, but Steve knew he worried. He worried a lot. He kept telling Steve to find an outlet, to even considering counseling, if not with him then one of his associates who worked with soldiers who suffered trauma and loss.

                Steve never got around to it. Jogging and physical therapy with Sam for a time seemed to be all the therapy he needed. And when he had finally come home to Tony, he lost himself in caring for the other man’s fragile well-being. Substituting.

Steve felt like he was being slowly being pulled apart, asked to choose sides. And least Coulson, in his anger, had suggested as such.

                Bucky or the team. Which mattered more?

                He heard the door slide open faintly. “Hey,” a quiet voice said behind him. Steve didn’t turn his attention from the skyline. Tony came to lean upon the rail, standing a few feet away from him. He was holding two steaming cups of coffee.

                “Thought you might want something to warm you up. Been out here awhile. Don’t want ya turning into a Cap-cicle again.” He attempted a little laugh, glancing to see if the familiar joke had evoked anything from his lover.

                Steve said nothing. He hadn’t spoken to Tony since the debriefing. He hadn’t spoken to _anyone_ in fact, except to ask about Gambit’s condition. The X-Man was currently recovering in the private medical wing downstairs, and Logan had barely left his side.

                Tony sighed heavily, setting the little red paper cup a little closer to Cap’s hand and looking back out at the city. “You know, you’re taking the ‘strong silent type’ trope a little far,” he said, attempting to sound angry, or mocking. “SHEILD confirmed that there were no civilian casualties, caused by us anyway. LeBeau is healing fine, he’ll be on his feet again in a day. I’ve been putting fires out all over the place, and you just… _stand_ there. _Staring_ off at nothing. I’m _trying_ Cap, but you are giving me _nothing_ to work with.”

Rogers continued his silence, turning his head away from Stark. But Tony saw that his expression wasn’t distant this time, nor angry. It was…something else. Something too complex to be summed up in just one word. Steve’ façade of stoic fury was cracking under pressure. Tony saw the fragile man underneath, the man who felt like he was carrying the world on his shoulders, all alone.

Stark sighed and ran his fingers through his feathery hair. He didn’t want to be the bad guy anymore. “I fucked up. I mean…I _really_ fucked this up, didn’t I?” he asked, even knowing Cap wouldn’t answer. “Steve, I’m…sorry. I know this is my fault. I’ve…screwed up everything.”

                The tall blonde turned to look at him slowly. “No, you haven’t.” he said softly. “Why do you think that?”

                Stark chuckled, “Why _wouldn’t_ I think that? But it’s cool…I mean, I get it. I let you down. I wasn’t there when I should have been. And ever since you came back, I have been, well, the nice word would be _clingy_. The accurate word would be _paranoid._ ”

                Steve let out a little chuckle. Tony felt his heart lift a little. He had missed that sound. Tentatively, he reached out and touched Cap’s hand with his, brushing his fingers along the chilled, chapped white skin. The bigger ones curled around his in return, squeezing slightly. “Tony…you didn’t let me down. _I’m_ the one…who failed you.”

                The dark haired billion air raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Come again?”

                He saw his lover struggling for words, for some explanation and it was making each hair-line crack in his composed demeanor widen and spread. Steve was falling apart right in front of him. Rogers opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Just a cracked breath that was almost a sob. Tony closed the space between them and kissed him hard, drawing him in as close as he could.

                They broke after a few seconds and Stark lead his lover inside, moving past the large living room into the master bedroom on the main floor. He undressed Steve, running his hands across his chilled, pale skin, and guided him into their bed. He went without protest or question, constantly reaching for Stark as if he were afraid that if he let go, Tony would vanish forever.

                They were sinking in that moment. And they both felt it. Something had changed between them; unraveled. They were going down, but neither could bring themselves to say that this was the end. It was too painful. It was too final. And the future was just too uncertain.

                Stark laid down beside the taller man in the bed, letting the blonde curl around him, limp and passive. The exhaustion was taking over, Super Soldier serum or not. Tony kissed his forehead softly, letting the other man rest his forehead against his collar bone. Rogers brushed his palm over the faint glow gleaming from beneath his shirt.

                “Go to sleep, Cap. I’ll stay until…” the rest of the words drifted away, unimportant. Steve’s eyes were already hooded, and Stark felt him relaxing beneath his palms. “We’ll get Barnes back. Under your terms. I’m on your side in this, Steve. Please….don’t forget that.”

                Rogers gripped him closer, grateful.

                “I love you.” Tony mumbled into the man’s scalp. Steve sighed softly, his lips moving, but no words forming. He was already gone, already under. Tony drew in a sharp breath, still pressing his mouth to the top of his now sleeping lover’s head. He glared across the room, his own eyes glassy and stinging.

                He wasn’t ready to let go. Even if he knew he had already lost the battle…there was still the war to think about.

 

***

 

                Remy was out of bed, stretching and twisting across the practice mats in one of the smaller work out rooms, wearing nothing but tight boxers and a somewhat disheveled t-shirt of Logan’s. He twisted and contorted himself as he stretched and practiced various acrobatic moves, testing his flexibility.

                His hands were bandaged, so was his neck and a small portion of the left side of his face, it was a little more than red and raw now, the blisters and abrasions having already healed. The accident at the apartment building had knocked Gambit down, but far from out.

                Though you wouldn’t know it by the way Logan was acting.

                Even now he sat watching the Cajun in his practices, frowning, worried, hovering. Remy bent himself backwards, feet planted firmly on the ground even as his palms came back to do the same, looking at Wolverine upside. He smirked, “Hmm, even from dis angle you look like a sourpuss,” he chided.

                Logan grunted him from his place on the bench. “It’s my natural state.”

                Remy righted himself, “Naw. Your natural state is somet’ing much more enjoyable, cher. At least to me.”

                He did a couple of hand springs, which made him wince and when he landed he stumbled, one leg threatening to buckle under him. Logan made to leap up after him, but Remy caught himself easily. His lover’s frown deepened still; “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

                “I’ve sprung back from worse a lot sooner,” Remy reminded him. “Need I remind you of dat time we fought twelve Sentinels, one which almost put me in de ground, and I got back up with a broken hand and took out three in less den ten minutes?”

                Logan nodded. “Yeah. I also remember you spending two weeks in the medical bay after that.”

                “Details, cher. Details.”

                Remy pulled his loose hair back into a short stubby ponytail, which Wolverine normally would have teased him about, as the other man spoke; “No one asked you to get involved with this mess. I wish you had said something to me about it before you—“

                The redhead grunted as he leapt upwards, grabbing onto the gymnastic bars, swinging around, once, twice, three times before flipping through the air and landing lightly upon the second higher bar, perched there like a tight-rope walker.

                “Since when do I need your permission to do my job?”

                “Since when did cleaning up Hydra’s messes become your job?” Wolverine retorted.

                Remy titled his head, “Cher, I know I gave ya a fright, and I’m sorry. But dat man needed my help. Wasn’t gonna turn aside, just cause he ain’t a mutant.” He frowned. “Come ta t’ink of it, not really sure why it is you want to be so far away from dis mess. Never known you to turn away from trouble, especially not when it comes knocking on your door.”

                Logan’s gaze drifted, if only momentarily, and he replied; “I don’t go looking for trouble. Especially not this brand. Hydra is worse than I think you realize. We’re not just talking Nazis, we’re talking bat-shit crazy Nazi’s with connections and power and no fear of collateral damage. SHIELD is prepared to deal with that kind of a threat. Two little X-Men…not so much.”

                The red-eyed Cajun stared at him. “What’s gotten into you?”

                Logan shook his head; “Leave it be, Cajun. I’m pulling us out. Now that you’re mobile again, we’re heading back to Westchester.”

                Remy climbed down from the bars and approached his lover, fixing him with a look of bewilderment. “I’m fine, Logan. Don’t abandon your friends in deir time of need just because—“

                “It’s not up for discussion. We’re leaving.” He was already turning towards the door, but Remy followed, reaching for his shoulder.

                “Logan, wait—“

                To his absolute shock, Wolverine reached back, grabbed him and flung him against the wall. Remy gasped as the breath was knocked out of him and his sore muscles sang with a thrill of pain. Logan was glaring at him, hard and unremorseful. “Don’t argue with me, Gambit. I promise you won’t win. We’re leaving before this gets any worse.”

                Remy was too shocked to say anything, so he just nodded dumbly. Logan backed off and made his way towards the door without even a glance back, leaving Remy dumfounded and startled. Logan hadn’t been that way with him in ages, not since things had gotten serious between them. And even then, he had never treated Gambit as if he didn’t have a say in where they went or what they did. Even more strange was that Logan didn’t even look sorry for his brutishness, which he always seemed to when Gambit took the brunt of his temper.

                Collecting himself, the Cajun went to grab his things. His lover’s abrasive behavior had shaken him. He needed to have a talk with Steve and the others, figure out what was going on. He had no sooner opened the door to the practice room however, when he felt another presence.

                He saw it, just out of the corner of his eye, a shadow cast upon the floor from the skylight above. Remy looked up and saw a familiar shape there, looking down at him. The figure motioned to him, popping open the window and letting in a freezing draft as Gambit closed the door behind him.

                Barnes dropped from the roof and landed nimbly at Remy’s feet. He looked a bit more ragged than before, but Gambit could see bits of his combat gear showing now from beneath the old discarded clothing he covered himself with.

                Gambit made to speak, but Bucky held up a hand to silence him, eyes darting around the room. The Cajun realized the man was reverting back to his training, and he should have his guard up, to be on the safe side. Obviously Barnes sensed a threat. He should, considering he had just somehow managed to scale the Avenger Tower, unnoticed by any of Stark’s advanced defense and surveillance systems.

                Bucky scanned the room, looking for cameras and listening for sounds of movement beyond the room. After several lengthy minutes he finally looked back to Gambit, his guard dropping only slightly. “You’re alive.” He said, somewhat matter-of-factly, though Gambit caught of hint of relief from him.

                “Yeah,” Gambit answered, scratching the back of his head, “don’t remember much after I got blown across de room, but…do remember you carrying me out. You saved me, mon ami. Merci.”

                Barnes shook his shaggy head. “You’re not out of the woods yet. None of us are.” He moved away from Gambit and moved towards the door, listening at it for several seconds as if he expected to hear breathing on the other side. “Where did Wolverine go?”

                Remy glanced away, frowning. “Probably to raid Stark’s liquor cabinet. He’s…on edge.”

                Barnes turned towards him again. “Has he been around Rogers?”

                “What? Oh, I…I guess. Why?”

                Bucky shook his head. “You’ve got to get him out of here. Drag him back to wherever you two came from.”

                “Well that’ll certainly be easy, but de question is why?” Gambit inquired, raising an eyebrow. Barnes stepped close, so much so that it was slightly intimidating for the mutant, as Bucky seemed different, less fragile, more feral, more combative and slightly erratic. Remy tried to bring up his shields against the confusing cocktail of emotions he was reading off the man, but his own state of confusion was inhibiting his concentration.

                Barnes looked at him with surprising intensity. “Take him away from the city. And the moment you have the opportunity…” he reached into one of the cavernous pockets of his shabby coat and produced a small pistol, which he pushed into Gambit’s bandaged palm. “Shoot him with this.”

                Remy jolted. “Non!” he gasped. He tried to drop the gun, but Bucky grabbed him and forced him between the wall and himself, staring intensely into his eyes.

                “He’s one of _them_ ,” he warned. “A sleeper agent. He will turn on Steve and _you_ the moment you try to interfere with whatever orders they’ve given. Shoot him with this. It will keep him down for awhile.”

                “Logan is _not_ a Hydra agent!” Gambit seethed. “You out y’ mind!”

                The Winter Soldier kept his intense gaze, giving Gambit a little shake as he pressed himself even closer. “He’s one of them. He was one of them in 1943. And once Hydra has it’s claws in you…it never lets go.”

                Remy pushed Bucky backwards, giving him a little shock for his trouble, making the man’s mechanical arm crackle faintly. “And just how is it you come across such information, mon frere?”

                “From the mouth of Rumlow himself.” Barnes answered. Remy tensed, but did not lower his defensive stance, nor reveal the tightness he suddenly felt in his chest and stomach. Barnes produced from his pocket a small thumb drive, which Gambit caught deftly. “See for yourself. I caught up with them the same night as the fire and overheard him receiving intel. Since I went rouge, they’re employing a plan B to take Steve out. A sleeper agent, placed very close to him. I had assumed it was Coulson or one of the SHIELD agents, but he mentioned that the source had only recently arrived as was working his way into the inner circle. That only leaves Logan.”

                Remy shook his head. “Non. You’re wrong. Logan never was, nor ever will be one of dose monsters!”

                Barnes grabbed him by the neck and thrust him against the wall again, his body pressed tight against LeBeau’s, leaving him little room to breathe. “I need your _help,_ Remy. This is my last chance, my last chance to do right by Steve. I need you to trust me.”

                “Hard to do when you’re throttlin’ me, mon ami…” Remy grimaced. Bucky’s face softened slightly and he slowly withdrew his grip, though he did not back down. His eyes were still boring into LeBeau’s strange red on black ones, knowing that his erratic and raw emotional state was doing a number on the mutant.

                “I won’t kill Logan. Even if I could, it wouldn’t do you no good. He regenerates, his body repairs any damage it takes. I’ve seen dat man taken down to de bone, disemboweled, blown to hell….he always comes back.”

                “I know that.” Bucky nodded, “This gun is loaded with hollow shell, inside is a powerful pathogen that will attack Wolverine’s healing factor at the source. It won’t kill him, but it will neutralize him for a time. Twenty four hours at maximum efficiency.”

                Remy paled. “God…how did you…?”

                “I may no longer serve Hydra, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get my hands on their toys with a little effort.” He looked pleadingly at LeBeau. “Please, Remy…if they succeed, I lose Steve twice. And more than that…they take down the leader of the Avengers. SHEILD’S prize accomplishment. They will prove that they are capable of destroying anyone who stands in their way.”

                Gambit looked helplessly down at the thumbdrive in his hand, afraid of what it might hold. He shook his head again, “But Logan…he wants to leave New York. He’s adamant about it, as a matter of fact. Dat doesn’t seem to gel wit what you’re telling me.”

                “He’s a sleeper agent. He doesn’t _know_ he’s been brainwashed. All it will take is a trigger word, and he will turn. And it won’t matter who is standing in his way…he’ll do anything to complete his mission.” He gave Remy a worried glance. “I don’t…want you in the way when that happens.”

                “Logan wouldn’t hurt me. He’s stronger than dat.”

                The dark haired man made a sad, mocking little laugh. “I thought I was too.” The look on his face was devastating.

                Remy felt his insides twist, unsure what to do, or what to believe. “We should warn Steve. Together. He’s here now—“

                “No!” Bucky gasped. “No, I…I can’t take the chance. I can still be triggered too. Logan might even know the word that will set me off. No, I….I can’t risk it.”

                “But he _needs_ you.”

                Bucky nodded. “I know. But right now…right now this is the only way I can protect him. So please, Gambit…help me.”

                Remy sunk down the wall, looking between the thumb drive and Barnes and the gun. “Mon Dieu…I wish I had staid in bed. How…how do we reverse de programming? On you and Logan? Assuming I believe you?”

                Bucky shrugged. “I don’t know.”

                “Well, dat’s helpful.”

                They heard a noise from the hallway, and the dark haired man ducked into a corner, remaining out of sight but ready to attack. Remy lifted himself and walked hurriedly to the door, poised there, listening. He heard Barton and Romanov talking in the hallway, but the words were muffled.

                The knob turned, and Remy flashed a look at Barnes, beseeching him not to act unless necessary. Natasha opened the door and looked up in surprise at Gambit standing right in the doorway.

                “Oh! Sorry, were you—“

                “Mornin’, chere! Sorry, did you need de room? I was just getting a little warm up…” he said, pouring the Charm on thick, catching Natasha by surprise.

                “No, that’s okay. Clint and I will come back later. Are you sure you’re feeling ready to--?”

                “Sure! We southern boys, we spring back fast.” Remy replied, hand on the door, keeping her from opening it any further. His smile looked so easy and sweet it was hard to believe how clenched he was everywhere else, or that sweat was already beading on the back of his neck. “Perhaps we could have a little sparing session later, just to prove to you I’m all better?”

                She smirked. “I don’t think Logan would like that.”

                “Probably right,” he chuckled.

                He reached into her jacket pocket then and produced a small red envelope. “Oh, by the way, Pepper said you boys needed one of these. Special invitation.”

                “Oh? To what, pray tell?” he asked, taking it between his fingers coyly and looking at the script on the front.

                “Tony’s annual Christmas Party being thrown at Stark Towers. Huge event, big media coverage…a pain the ass really. But we’re expected to show. It’s black tie. Think Wolverine has a tux he can fit into?”

                “Sure, chere. All de more fun to pry him out of at de end of de night.” He winked.

                She rolled her eyes. “Alright well, take it easy in here. Don’t blow anything up, please. Submitting the expense reports for the damages is time consuming.”

                “I will be gentle.” He blew her a little kiss and waved to Clint, who looked at him in vague confusion and then closed the door behind him. The two waited breathlessly for their footsteps to cease, and all sounds of life to fade.

                When Remy looked up, Bucky was right beside him again and he nearly jumped. “Damn you, stop doin’ dat!”

                Barnes snatched the envelope from his hands and opened it, looking at the date and time. “This is it. A big public event. This is when they’ll make their move, I’m sure of it.”

                “Seems a bit ballsy, even for dem. There’ll be Avengers everywhere.”

                “But none of them will be expecting the attack to come from one of their own.” Bucky answered gravely.

                Remy felt his stomach fall somewhere between his feet. “Say it ain’t so, cher…”

                Bucky put an arm around him. “Go to the party. Wait for Logan to make a move. Take the gun. Once he’s down, I need you to do everything you can to get Steve out of there, even if he resists. Take him as far away as possible. Don't let Logan get near Steve in the meantime.”

                “And what about you, mon ami?”

                “I’ll deal with Rumlow. And if I can’t…if I’m triggered…I need you to take me down.”

                Remy shook his head. “No, Bucky. I can’t…”

                “You _have_ to.” He answered. “I won’t be able to stop. I’d rather die than go on like this. Than be the one who…”

                Barnes blinked in surprise then as Gambit embraced him tightly. “I’ll save you. Both of you. Somehow. Do you trust me to do dat?”

                Bucky didn’t reply. Remy kissed his cheek. “Go, mon ami. Leave de rest to me. I’ll get us out of dis mess, although it may be by de skin of my teeth.”

                The former assassin nodded slowly and turned back towards the skylight, aiming a grappling gun towards it and securing himself. “I’m trusting you, LeBeau.”

                “I know.” Remy nodded and gave him an awkward salute as the man was rapidly pulled through the air and disappeared once more out the open window above them. “I know…”

 

***


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